


Open Secrets

by NebulousMistress



Series: The Shadow Over Atlantis [6]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s05e01 Search and Rescue, Episode: s05e02 The Seed, Episode: s05e06 The Shrine, Gen, Other, Revelations, Transformation, did the research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Midway and the Void. Secrets are breaking, shadows are falling, the sea is calling, it can't just end like this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rumors

“Check.”

In a room only partially lit, in quarters left vacant for the past month, two scientists sat facing one another across a well-carnaged chess board. Dr. Rodney McKay was celebrating his return to Atlantis after two weeks in the Void and two more weeks facing water rationing on the Daedalus by playing chess with Dr. Radek Zelenka. In the bathtub. Naked.

“What?” Rodney sloshed over to the side of the tub and pondered over the damp regulation-plastic pieces on a wet board. Black bishop held white king in check. He dropped low in the water, submerging to the eyes, humming in thought. Only three possible moves open to him. One would sacrifice his queen; he relied on his queen. Okay, two possible moves. Sacrifice his pawn and Radek then takes his remaining knight. Or sacrifice his rook and take Radek's last bishop. Radek relied on his bishops...

“There.” Rodney moved his rook to block the check.

“Hmmm...”

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Rodney asked.

“Hmmm...”

No answer. Rodney tried something different. “So I was thinking of kidnapping a big Russian woman named Helga and breeding my half-human spawn with her.”

“Hmmm...”

“I ate all the chocolate on the Daedalus?”

“You did what?!”

“Oh so that gets your attention.”

Radek grumbled, turning his attention back to the board. “You're not the first Deep One to try to distract me like that,” he said. “She also made same mistake. Checkmate.”

Rodney sputtered, water sloshing out of the tub as he slid over to the edge to get a better look at the board. Checking and double-checking the pieces didn't change the fact that Radek had won. He grumbled about luck and lesser beings and sank completely underwater.

Radek grinned and leaned over to set the board back up. He didn't get more than a few pieces upright when hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him back into the water. He laughed openly as arms held him prisoner and a toothed maw gnawed playfully at his head. The water shifted around them as Rodney surfaced to breathe then descended again, a purr rising from his throat.

Isolation in a puddlejumper had been hell, impotent pacing on the Daedalus had been torture, but here on Atlantis in a bathtub with a friend he was home.

*****

Dr. Kavanagh prowled the corridors and hallways he used to know so well. He'd left because of persecution and mistrust, returned to the SGC. After some coaxing and a few well-timed deaths he'd been assigned to SG-15. And then one too many arguments with his commander left his assigned to man Midway Station. Alone. For a very long time.

He considered himself lucky that he'd still been training to take over station operations when it was destroyed.

He didn't feel comfortable on Atlantis anymore. He still sensed the mistrustful looks and now there was a sinister undertone. It was likely that having a worshiper of Cthulhu as a boss had warped the minds of the researchers. If that were the case then Kavanagh considered himself lucky to have escaped before the cult spread.

Even after the years away his feet still traced the familiar route to the main research lab. Still the same workstations, the same open door to a room walled with whiteboards, the half-used excuse for McKay's office. Ancient tech cluttered the desks and shelves, haphazard post-it notes declaring probability of danger, power stores, threats of death, and the occasional 'no idea'.

“Peter?” asked a surprised voice. “What are you doing here?”

Kavanagh turned to see a familiar face. “Miko, you're still here I see,” he said.

Dr. Kusanagi nodded. “Yes, I have calculations to finish,” she admitted. “But why are you here? Surely you have not come back?”

“No, I'm just here until the Daedalus leaves,” he assured. “I'm not sure I would want to stay, what with McKay still in charge. Him being a Cthulhu worshiper and all...”

“I was unaware Dr. McKay worshiped Cthulhu,” Miko said, confused.

“Oh he does,” Kavanagh said sagely.

“You are joking.”

“I'm not, I swear,” he said, eyes shifting back and forth to make sure they weren't being watched. “You weren't there, Miko. The dreams that man has send him screaming praises to the Great Old Ones in a half-asleep stupor. I'm telling you, he's mad. He's probably always been mad, long before day one. Maybe since before he even joined the Stargate program. You know he went to Miskatonic University, right? Nothing but madmen and cultists there, I tell you.”

“You are mistaken,” Miko said firmly. “And embarrassing yourself. You would want to leave before someone sees you acting like this.”

“He's got you blinded to his blasphemies, doesn't he?” Kavanagh demanded.

“Um, no?”

The door slid open as Dr. Zelenka stepped in to fetch his laptop, preparing to take it back to his quarters for some math by loud music. He stopped before reaching his goal by the man glaring down Dr. Kusanagi. “Kavanagh,” he said evenly.

“Zelenka, you were always the most level-headed of us all,” Kavanagh said quickly, turning his attention to the newcomer. “You of all people have to believe me, McKay is a Cthulhu cultist!”

Radek worked to keep his expression carefully neutral. “Rodney does not worship Cthulhu,” he said, his voice betraying how ridiculous he found the idea. “Cthulhu is high priest on Earth to Great Old Ones. This is not Earth. Worship of Cthulhu does not yield results here.”

Kavanagh's hope drained from his face.

“With no high priest to Great Old Ones, we need worship Great Old Ones themselves,” Radek continued as though speaking to a dense child. “Rodney would worship Yog-Sothoth. He is the gate. It makes sense.” He gave Miko a look, silently begging her to either play along or keep quiet.

“Yes, Yog-Sothoth is the gate,” Miko agreed, thinking fast. “It's not safe to travel the gate otherwise.”

Kavanagh looked on in horror before realization turned his fear to anger. “You're both mocking me!”

Radek burst out laughing. “Is too easy,” he crowed even as his laughter took on a sinister tone. Miko giggled unabashed as Kavanagh huffed and stormed out of the labs.

This wasn't over.

*****

It was Colonel Carter who originally fielded the complaint. She contacted Colonel Caldwell as it was similar to complaints he'd fielded on the Daedalus and he deserved some closure. He contacted Colonel Sheppard because if the complaint had any merit they would need his cooperation to extract a confession.

Thus the three Colonels strode with varying degrees of authority and purposefulness to the research lab. The door opened on silent command and they filed in to stand and wait.

Rodney sat hunched over his computer, his neck and spine curled in a strange inhuman slump that lacked all of the normal bipedal straightness. He tapped away at a particularly tricky piece of math while humming tunelessly to himself.

Sheppard knew firsthand how long Rodney could take when hip-deep in math. He cleared his throat. Didn't work. He tried it again. Nope, still not working. The other scientists kept their distance, knowing better than to get between Sheppard and McKay when something this important was going on.

Sheppard played dirty. He took a chocolate bar out of his pocket and crinkled the wrapper.

Rodney was busy at the moment, wrapped up in a personal project. Then he noticed the crinkle. Odd that someone other than him would bring food into his lab. He took a quick glance around the lab, ensuring that it was food-safe at the moment. Good enough. He went back to work.

Sheppard unwrapped the bar and blew the smell of chocolate at Rodney.

He didn't react? Odd. Sheppard once knew Rodney to track a chocolate bar by smell alone though half the city.

Sheppard snapped off a square of chocolate, making sure it made a loud noise. He ate the small piece with relish, moaning slightly at the taste.

Rodney heard the odd things behind him. Yes, it was food but what kind of...

Oh. _Oh..._

He took a soft breath of air, rubbing his tongue against a spot on his soft palate he didn't know he had. He could _taste_ the chocolate on the air, a pure sweet dark taste that he'd never even dreamed of before. Oh this was so much better than a sense of smell! But wait, chocolate, right. Chocolate. He turned around, figuring he knew who that rat bastard was.

“What is it, Shep--” Rodney's question died mid-word as he realized there was a trio of a problem behind him. “Colonels?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I got a complaint today,” Carter began. “It fits an MO. Dr. Kavanagh came to me fearing for his mind and his sanity because of what he calls 'blatant Cthulhu worship running rampant in the halls'. Would you happen to have any idea where he got that idea?”

“We know it was you, Dr. McKay,” Caldwell said. “We were fielding the same accusations two weeks ago on the Daedalus. About you.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Rodney said. “Has anyone explained to him that Cthulhu's power doesn't extend much further than Earth? And thus any worship of Great Cthulhu out here would be harmless not to mention useless?”

“Yes,” said a small voice. Kusanagi tried to make herself smaller as four sets of eyes turned to her. “That is, Radek and I explained to him that worship of Cthulhu doesn't work out here. Worship of Yog-Sothoth is more practical.”

“Which is true,” McKay said quickly in her defense. “Wait, why did Kavanagh need this explained to him?”

“Peter comes in here and starts accusing you of worshiping Cthulhu,” Miko defended. “And then when I don't immediately agree he accuses me of being brainwashed by you and your dark powers. Radek came in before Peter could go farther and explains things to him. Then Peter stormed off. I don't think he believes us.”

“Is that what happened, Zelenka?” Sheppard asked, addressing Radek at his workstation.

“Yes it is.”

“Well, that clears that up,” Rodney offered.

“No it doesn't,” Caldwell insisted. “This started right after we picked you up at Midway. You and Sheppard were the only permanent Atlantis personnel inside and it was you, McKay, whom Kavanagh immediately began rumors about.”

“Um...”

“I can shed some light on that Colonel,” Sheppard said. “McKay has nightmares, the screaming type. I was there when Kavanagh began whispering strange Cthulhu-y words into McKay's ear while he slept. I think he did it to induce those nightmares for his own entertainment. It's no wonder McKay had strange dreams after that, Kavanagh started it.”

Carter nodded. “Right. Sorry for suspecting you, McKay. Also, you might want to sit up straight if you ever want to move your neck again.”

Rodney waved the colonels out the door.

*****

“So what is it? Why can't I move my neck?”

Dr. Keller looked at the scan results. This was not human anatomy. “Your sternocleidomastoid muscle is gone,” she said.

“My what?” Rodney asked. He jumped off the scanning bed to take a look at the results. He winced at the data that he could understand, at what it showed.

“The muscle that turns your head. Let me guess, you can't?” Keller asked. “Can't twist it back or forth? Yeah, I don't think you'll be getting that back. Your foramen magnum's been shifted back almost a centimeter and the atlas looks like it's fused to your skull.”

“So what's it all mean?”

“Have you ever thought of walking on all fours?”

“Oh ha ha. No really, what's it mean?”

Keller gave him a long, dull look.

“No I mean it, what's it really mean? You can't be serious, I can't just stop walking upright, everyone will see!”

“Well your thoracic spine seems to be shifting to allow for your current posture so you might be able to pull off something for now,” Keller admitted. “But your olfactory bulbs are gone. Have you even noticed that you can't smell anything anymore?”

“I was stuck in a jumper for two weeks with people and no deodorant,” Rodney defended. “I would say that was an excellent time to lose it.”

Keller had to agree. “Point. But in return it looks like you have a Jacobson's Organ.”

“A what?”

“You can taste smells.”

“So that's what that was...”

Keller saved the scans to the encrypted file and shut off the scanner. “You're fine, Rodney. Go gargle some saltwater or something, you sound horrible.”

*****

If there was one thing Sheppard had learned out here, it was that good intel was the first step toward victory. He just found it odd that this was part of gathering 'good intel'.

He chimed the door.

Kavanagh called it open and nearly shut it in Sheppard's face.

“Look, I know we don't get along all that well but I have it on good authority that you're the kind of expert I need on this,” Sheppard began.

Kavanagh was intrigued enough to listen. “Go on...”

“I never read any of Lovecraft's stuff,” Sheppard admitted. “What can you tell me about Miskatonic University and Innsmouth?”

Several hours later he had to admit that yes, Kavanagh was the expert he needed. Apparently Lovecraft set many of his major writings in and around a town in Massachusetts called Arkham. Miskatonic was the town's university. There were towns all around Arkham: Ipswitch and Dunwich, Newburyport and Innsmouth. Innsmouth was the site of one of his major stories about a race of fish-people called 'Deep Ones' invading the land by breeding their way into the world.

It made Sheppard's head hurt. “Maybe I could just read these stories?” he said wearily as Kavanagh was in the middle of a rant about the veracity of the Dunwich Horror.

“What? Oh, of course, I have digital copies, just let me upload them for you.” Kavanagh dumped the files on the mainframe.

“Thanks,” Sheppard said before leaving. He needed a beer.

Kavanagh waved him off, lost in thought. Innsmouth, hmm? That couldn't be it. The Innsmouth Look was very specific about certain characteristics, chiefest being that the eyes could no longer blink. McKay blinked often enough, that couldn't be it.

Unless...

What if Lovecraft got the symptoms wrong?

*****

The day before the Daedalus left orbit dawned the usual way. Personnel scheduled to leave said their goodbyes, some temporary, some permanent. A couple of pieces of tech deemed safe and useful were transported under watchful eyes to ATA-free areas of the ship. Orders for goods, items, and plants for transplant were fielded.

It was on that day while Colonel Caldwell was taking one last round through the city that Colonel Sheppard caught up to him with a request.

“What is it, Sheppard,” Caldwell asked.

“I have a favor to ask,” Sheppard admitted. “I need some files, probably highly classified. Do you know anything about Delta Green?”

“A little bit,” Caldwell said. “They're a shadow branch of the State Department, part of the NID. They work with the military from time to time. They had a whole hell of a lot to say about the Stargate program when it started, real Earth-first isolationists. Why, what do you want to know?”

“I was hoping to get a copy of their files on the Innsmouth raids. Clean ones, if you can.”

Caldwell nodded. “Any reason why you need the files?” he asked. “Something I should know?”

“On the record, no,” Sheppard said. “Off the record...”

“I see...”

“One of my men said I should look for these files,” Sheppard said. It was true enough, McKay was on his team. “Something about his family getting lost in the raids.”

“I see.”

“I read Lovecraft's version of the story but I want to know what really happened.”

“And you don't want to tell me in case someone asks,” Caldwell observed.

“Plausible deniability, need-to-know, you know the drill, Sir.”

“Understandable. I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” Sheppard saluted haphazardly and left.

He found himself wandering the corridors. He walked without purpose, meandering halls that teemed with life and those that still dripped with seawater. He didn't have a destination, he just found himself in front of a particular door. He rang the chime.

He was surprised when it opened, both that it had opened and that the man opening it was in such a state.

Rodney wore a large number of bubbles and bathrobe that stuck to his wet skin. A trail of water and bubbles led from what must be the bathroom. “Yes?” Rodney asked, annoyed at the interruption and not a little confused.

Sheppard took a moment to come up with something to say. “You're all wet,” he observed.

“I was in the bath,” Rodney said. “Was there an actual something or did you come by just to drag me out of it?”

“I put in a request for those files on the Innsmouth raids,” Sheppard said.

Rodney immediately tensed and looked around. “That's great, get in here,” he said quickly.

“What? Why?”

Rodney fixed Sheppard with a glare. “Look, this is not something I am going to discuss in public no matter how naked I am. So either go away or get in here!”

Sheppard pushed past Rodney and willed the door closed. “I asked Caldwell for the files,” he said.

“Caldwell.”

“I didn't tell him anything,” Sheppard promised. “I just told him I wanted the files. He said he'd see what he could do.”

Rodney sighed in visible relief. “Okay.”

“And I read Lovecraft's version of events.”

Rodney tensed back up.

Sheppard allowed himself to take a good look at Rodney, at all the little details he'd seen before but had never wanted to acknowledge or admit. The large feet, without shoes Sheppard could see what looked like extra toes among webbed feet. The thickening, creased neck that couldn't straighten up anymore. The hair loss. The skin condition, the peeling and the grey sheen to the skin beneath. Even his eyes seemed larger than they used to be only a few short years before.

“It wasn't just a story, was it,” Sheppard said. It wasn't a question.

Rodney tried to curl in on himself.

“Was it.”

“No...” Rodney admitted. He winced, waiting for the blow or maybe the gunshot.

“So you're...”

“You're going to make me say it, aren't you?” Rodney demanded. “Fine! Yes, I'm a Deep One hybrid! Happy?! Yes, I'm in the middle of the Change and no there's nothing I can **DO** about it!”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, McKay.” Sheppard held up his hands to show he wasn't armed, or at least not reaching for his weapon. “Okay, let's start from the top. First, what really happened at Innsmouth?”

McKay collapsed into a chair. He swiped at a patch of particularly loud bubbles near his ear. “Innsmouth used to be isolated and for good reason,” he said. “And then it all went to hell when that man came to town, learned too much, and then escaped capture. It wasn't safe to let anyone out, not once they knew. Don't you see? A single man getting out began those raids.

“They had orders to round up everyone in town,” Rodney continued. “A submarine even patrolled the coast to make sure no one escaped that way, ended up bombing the underwater city. Anyone who resisted was to be killed, made an example of. And of course people resisted. Men, women, children. Those who complied were rounded up like animals, sent to internment camps. The town was dynamited. But orders were disobeyed.”

Sheppard listened, not wanting to believe, but history did not make it any easier to disbelieve.

“Some of the marines couldn't do it,” Rodney continued. “They couldn't kill children. Those young enough to look untainted were lost in orphanages where they would be safe. My grandmother was one of those children. The rest of her family died, murdered trying to defend their homes and themselves. At least, that's the story I was told.”

“Why?”

“We were... different...” Rodney said, as though it were a valid reason. “Mankind's greatest fear has always been the fear of the unknown. To be honest, John, you don't get much more unknown that us in the '20s.”

Sheppard gave a bitter laugh. “That's certainly no excuse now,” he said. “Not for us. Not here.”

Rodney looked Sheppard right in the eye, slowly blinking nictitating membranes. When that didn't elicit a response he did it again. He realized... “You're not scared at all...”

Sheppard took a seat and splayed out in the chair like he owned it. “Should I be?”

Rodney felt almost affronted. “Well, you know... I am the great and terrible unknown.”

“Well, that's what we're here for,” Sheppard said. “Though to be honest I didn't think we'd be bringing it with us.”

“One of life's great ironies,” Rodney agreed. Relief flooded him, the realization that he wasn't about to be shot and he hadn't just lost a friend. He might even be safe here, actually safe. The thought made him purr.

Sheppard looked around at the suddenly low sound, a strange thrum he'd never heard before. It seemed to be coming from... “McKay? What is that? Are you... purring?”

Rodney looked embarrassed. _It happens sometimes,_ he mouthed, not able to speak during the purr and unwilling to break it.

“Wait, so you can't talk like this? I should get you to purr more often if it'll get you to shut up once in a while.”

The purr broke in an odd squealing bleat. “Hey!” Rodney pouted, or as close as he could manage. It was more of a sneer. “If you're going to be like that then I'm just going to get back to work.”

“To work? Wait, you work in the tub?”

“The water helps me think,” Rodney admitted. He started back toward the bathroom, peeling his robe off as he went. “I swear, the best ideas flow underwater. It works better when I've got Zelenka in here, then the ideas don't even need words.”

“I'm not sure I wanted to know that,” Sheppard said. His curiosity had him slowly approaching the bathroom.

“You know, I've always suspected that Deep Ones were at least partially telepathic. My bathtub has room for at least three, want to, um, join me?”

“How about if I pass...” Sheppard looked into the bathroom. He startled at the doorway, amazed and unnerved by what he saw. “When in hell did you get a tub this huge?” he demanded. “It's like a jacuzzi!”

The gigantic bathtub, difficult to even call a bathtub, spread over much of the room. It could comfortably fit three people, five if they were friendly. It was piled with a layer of bubbles that covered the surface, obscuring anything that might lurk beneath.

Rodney's bathrobe was piled on the floor where it had dropped but he himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Rodney?” Sheppard asked.

Rodney popped up out of the water with a great splash. He wiped bubbles off his face. His eyes had a strange pale sheen, the third eyelid pulled tightly closed to protect them from the soap. “I told you it fits at least three,” he said. He shook his hands free of foam and picked up his tablet, tapping away.

“At least...” Sheppard stood in the doorway, unsure what to do. “So... what're you working on?”

“If you're interested, get in,” Rodney said, gesturing at the water. “Otherwise go away and let me work. And get naked, clothes leave a funny feel to the water.”

Sheppard thought about it. He didn't really have anything to do today that couldn't be put off until tomorrow. He watched Rodney tapping at his tablet, saw the nervousness there. This was weird, but it was something he should probably do. Socks and shoes fell to the floor and pant legs were rolled up as Sheppard sat on the edge of the tub, putting his feet in. “You'd better have towels around here somewhere,” Sheppard said, leaning back and idly kicking his feet.

Rodney smiled and found himself starting to purr. It was enough.

*****

The room was quiet as Radek worked on streamlining the ZPM's power output. Rodney sat next to him, brooding over past events. The water in the tub was cold, salty, unaltered seawater. Radek shivered and pressed against Rodney for warmth.

“I talked with Carson today,” Rodney said absently.

“Carson is still in stasis?” Radek asked.

“Doesn't mean I can't talk to him.”

“Hmmm...”

“I'm taking his advice. I told Sheppard about me.”

Radek paused in his calculations and set his tablet down on the edge of the tub. “You told him? How did he react?”

Rodney shrugged. “Well, I wasn't shot,” he said. “I think he's going to be okay with this.”

“Is good to hear,” Radek said.

“I'm going to have to start telling people, aren't I,” he mused. He absently rubbed at the silvery scaling on the backs of his hands. “I can't hide it anymore and people aren't going to be oblivious forever. I'd prefer telling people as opposed to them just finding out. At least if I tell them I can control it.”

“I think Miko knows,” Radek mused.

“Dr. Kusanagi? Why do you say that?”

“We were discussing ideas and the underwater jumper bay was mentioned. I remember we cannot use it because control room is flooded. She asked why you could not operate controls.”

Rodney tensed up, pulling away from Radek even as the man shivered from the cold. “She asked why I couldn't operate the controls in a flooded room?” he asked. “Just like that?”

“We were alone,” Radek defended. “And yes, just like that. She was confused when I told her you could not. She said perhaps later then when you had changed enough.”

“She knows,” Rodney whispered. “And she doesn't care...”

Rodney went silent as he fell back to his brooding. Five people knew about him now; of those five only Jennifer Keller had been afraid of him and that had been temporary. He'd been changing fast ever since his brush with ascension; the machine must have done something to him. But he couldn't take to the water yet, there were people he had to tell first. People close to him.

“I'm going to tell Ronon next,” Rodney said.

“Hmmm...”

“And then I'm going to eat all the chocolate in Atlantis.”

“Hmmm... Wait, what?”


	2. Monsters

“I still can't believe I delivered a baby,” Rodney said. He was in the Atlantis infirmary as a visitor rather than a patient for once. John Sheppard lounged on the infirmary bed, mind fuzzy from the painkillers that kept him from feeling his insides. Rodney stood next to the bed, hopping from foot to foot. He was still jazzed on the adrenaline of Teyla's rescue, of John surviving surgery, of delivering a baby.

“Neither can I,” John said, deadpanned.

Rodney didn't acknowledge the sarcasm. “I'm serious, it was just so **amazing** ,” he babbled. “I had to keep talking the whole time I was holding him otherwise I was just going to start purring and purring and never stop. You have no idea what it's like to welcome someone into the universe like that!”

“McKay,” Sheppard warned. One of the medics was giving them weird looks.

“What?” Rodney looked around, going still when he realized how open, how careless he was being in a public place.

“Don't wanna know,” the medic said. “Don't care. Going away now.” She left the area to busy herself in the stockroom.

“Oh shit...” Rodney whispered.

“Not to curb your enthusiasm but how about we hold off discussing things like this until after I get outta here?”

“Just... don't say anything?” Rodney pleaded. “If people have to know I want to be the one to tell them.”

“Oh, sure,” John drawled. “I'll just tell her you really like cats.”

“Oh ha ha.”

*****

It was six days before Colonel Sheppard was discharged from the infirmary with orders to take it easy. Dr. Keller made it clear that noncompliance would be met with exile to his quarters. Thus Sheppard had taken a page from the _X-Files_ handbook and was tossing pencils at his office ceiling. Unfortunately he had the wrong type of ceiling; the pencils didn't stick. Instead Sheppard started aiming them in a bulls-eye pattern around an imaginary spot.

The door chimed. Sheppard sat up and tried to look busy. He woke his computer to find its screen full of empty forms. Close enough. “Come in.”

Ronon walked in, looking as off as Sheppard felt.

“What's up?” Sheppard asked.

“There's something wrong with McKay,” Ronon said.

Sheppard had a sinking feeling he knew what this was about.

“He's changed shape, he smells like water, and he moves like a tlak-tcho,” Ronon elaborated. “But the worst is his eyes. Sheppard, his eyes shine in the dark like a Wraith's.”

Sheppard nodded, asking the one question on his mind. “What's a 'tlak tcho'?”

“It's a monster on Sateda,” Ronon said. “Sometimes on two legs, sometimes on four. Lives near the lakes. Farmers would hire them for the harvest, pay them in beer and cold iron. That's not the point; McKay has Wraith **eyes**. He--”

Ronon went quiet as the door chimed and opened. Rodney stood there. “Oh...” he said. “I'll come back later.”

The door slid closed. “You see it too, don't you,” Ronon said. It wasn't a question. “His eyes glow green in the dark like a Wraith's.”

“It's called 'eyeshine',” Sheppard said. “Lots of creatures from Earth have it, all the way from tiny spiders to the magnificent and dangerous cow.”

“What do you know about this?” he demanded.

“Too much,” Sheppard admitted. “Look, McKay's not dangerous, I can promise you that. But I'm not at liberty to say anything.”

Ronon glared.

“How about this?” Sheppard proposed. “Tonight we pull McKay aside, you can ask whatever you want. I'll make sure he's game, nothing to worry about.”

“You'd better,” Ronon said. Then he turned and left.

Rodney came back before Sheppard had even had a chance to realize what he was in for. “What was that about?” Rodney asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Sheppard said. It felt odd lying to his teammates like this. Hopefully that would end sooner rather than later.

“Good, because I need your help,” Rodney said. “I need you to help me tell Ronon and Teyla. About me.”

The irony had Sheppard slumping in his chair, chin in one hand. “You don't say...”

“I-I can't just tell them,” Rodney said before his thoughts came tumbling out. “They don't have any previous knowledge of the situation and they'll have no idea why they need to keep it quiet” _and I'll have to explain how it works_ “and you're the only person I've ever actually told” _and even then I failed because all I could do was direct you to figuring it out yourself_ “and I still really think that if this gets out I'm gonna get shot” _and I don't wanna get shot, not when I've come this far_ “but it's going to be impossible to hide this from people eventually and oh hell I'm going to have to tell Sam” _and she's gonna shoot me for hitting on her for_ _ **years**_ _when I knew I wasn't even human because how could I not--_

“Rodney!” John shouted.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!”

“Yes I am.” John pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the sudden headache. If he didn't know any better he would have sworn most of McKay's rant wasn't even spoken aloud but somehow he still heard it? This was so much more complicated than that, that **story** led him to believe. “You're worried people will find out. You know they will anyway. You're worried people will be angry when they do.”

“I'm worried they're going to shoot me,” Rodney corrected.

“I'm going to shoot you if you don't shut up.”

Rodney suddenly stopped talking. He looked terrified before steeling himself, hiding the fear.

“Look, I'm sorry,” Sheppard said, feeling guilty. “Just... calm down. Let's start again. You want to tell Ronon and Teyla.”

“I should tell them separately,” Rodney said, his scratchy voice much more subdued than before. “It should be easier if there's only one at a time.”

“You should tell Ronon first,” Sheppard said, jumping at the opportunity.

Rodney nodded. “Teyla has the baby,” he realized. “And she's worried about the father Kenan--”

“Kanaan.”

“Close enough. Point is she's busy and I don't want to be adding to her stresses by dragging her into something like this.”

“Good idea,” Sheppard said. “Though with Ronon you should probably do this sooner rather than later.”

“How soon?” Rodney asked.

“How about tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Do you think visual aids might help?”

“What do you mean 'tonight'?!” Rodney demanded. “What did you **do**!”

Sheppard held up his hands against the odd sight of Rodney McKay crouched down, claws splayed, and teeth bared. He wasn't even sure Rodney knew he was doing it. And when did McKay get teeth like that? “Look, Ronon already knows something's up,” Sheppard defended. “He came in here and accused you of having Wraith eyes. Tonight was the best I could do. He's just gonna ask some questions, you can tell him then, I'll be there to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Rodney growled, long and low, before he seemed to realized what he was doing. He curled up on the floor, strange whining sounds coming from his throat. _This is bad this is bad this is bad_...

“It'll go fine,” Sheppard promised. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

The sound stopped and Rodney gave Sheppard the most vitriolic deadpanned look he could muster.

“Just show up,” Sheppard said, refusing to plead. “I'll bring the food.”

The glare did not change.

“Beer?”

The glare changed somewhat but remained harsh.

“I have chocolate...”

The glare tried to stay but ended up beneath a wave of defeat. “Fine, we'll do this. Tonight, before I change my mind.”

*****

Sweat dripped off of Ronon as he danced around the leather bag. Faint dents marred the thick leather where his fists had recently impacted. The mat was compressed under his feet, as sure a sign of overuse as his sore knuckles.

He just needed to work off some steam, was all.

So McKay was willing to answer questions. That message had come over a private channel to Ronon's radio a while ago. Perhaps hours? This wasn't a serious situation then, or perhaps serious enough that Sheppard was forcing him. Either way, if Rodney could be forced then it wasn't catastrophic.

The man was stubborn. He smelled weird and his voice was horrifying and his body seemed to be changing but he was still stubborn. Still himself. Still self-centered, still oblivious, still a genius.

Ronon wasn't sure what it could be. Maybe this was some sort of illness like Sheppard's bug or a device like Rodney's ascension.

Or maybe Rodney was just a monster.

Ronon stopped moving and wiped his brow. It took a moment for him to realize the sunlight was gone, night having fallen perilously close while he thought.

Ronon took a pull from his waterbottle as he unwrapped his hands. Enough thought, it was time for action.

*****

Rodney could taste Ronon's scent before the door chimed. It was an odd sight to walk in on, Rodney with his nose wrinkled as he rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to better taste the scent. He rumbled, an odd sound that Ronon had heard before but never attributed to the man.

Ronon stood in the doorway, silently observing. He took in the strange motions and behaviors, remembering when he'd seen them before. These were not new for Rodney, merely bolder than they used to be.

Rodney finally glanced at the door. The glance turned into a shriek and a jump before morphing into a growl. “Either come in or get out,” Rodney snapped.

Ronon took a step inside. The door closed.

“Right...” Rodney said. He glanced around before he remembered Sheppard was still gathering the items needed for a proper offering. Bribe. Whatever. “Well, Sheppard won't be long so if you'll just--”

“What are you?” Ronon asked.

“Well that's a bit forward, isn't it?” Rodney defended.

“I know **who** you are,” Ronon said. “That was never in question. But I don't think you're human. What are you?”

Rodney shrank down into himself, blushing. He found himself softly hissing, tried to make it stop. “It'sss... It'sss not a common quessstion...”

“Why not?”

“It just isn't,” Rodney snapped, shaking off the hiss. “On Earth there's just humans and everyone accepts that! People like me used to be able to live our lives and then take to the water without questions or threats or anything.”

Ronon watched, listening to everything Rodney wasn't saying. “There's more like you,” he said. “On Earth.”

“Lots more,” Rodney admitted. “Not like there used to be, it's not safe anymore. But they're still there. Biding their time, I think, until it's safer.”

“You're safe here,” Ronon said.

Rodney snorted.

“What are you?” Ronon asked again.

Rodney took a deep breath. “I'm... I'm a Deep One hybrid.”

Ronon cocked his head, waiting for some sort of explanation. “What's that?”

“Oh for Hydra's sake.” Rodney pulled up his sleeve to show peeling skin and grey scales beneath. “There, see?”

Ronon looked at the scales. “Lieutenant Ray has scales like those,” he said. “On his elbows and knees. Dr. Keller gives him an ointment for it and tells him to lay in the sun.”

“This is different,” Rodney snapped. “That's just a skin thing, this is everywhere. I'm turning into a Deep One, he's just got psoriasis or something.”

“Is that why you have Wraith eyes?”

Rodney looked scandalized. “I have what?”

“Wraith eyes. Your eyes glow green in the dark.”

“Oh that... Lots of animals on Earth have that. Night predators and sea creatures and things. It just makes it easier to see at night.” Rodney thought about it for a moment. “It makes sense that the Wraith would evolve something similar.”

“Night predators... Sheppard did tell me about the terrible cow,” Ronon allowed.

Rodney snorted before dropping his head in his hands.

“Let me see your eyes,” Ronon said.

Rodney looked up. “Wha?” It was all he could say before hands grabbed his head and a pair of hazel eyes bored into his own.

Rodney's eyes were blue, nothing like the gold of the Wraith, though the iris did fill most of the visible eyeball. His pupils were round and large with a faint green shine leaking from behind them even in this light. The corners of his eyes seemed thicker, paler, its reason becoming clear as a transparent third eyelid blinked out from the side then slid back away.

Ronon examined everything carefully, from the shape and size of those eyes to the elongated structure of Rodney's skull to the shedding hairs. His jaws were the wrong shape and Ronon could see ridges in Rodney's neck.

“These 'Deep Ones', they live on Earth?” Ronon asked even as he let go of Rodney and sat down.

“Yeah.”

“They interact with humans?”

Rodney chuckled darkly and gestured to himself. “They offer gold and fish in return for mates and secrecy,” Rodney said dryly. “That's how hybrids get made.”

“And what happens to the hybrids?”

“If all goes well we grow up human then later we change. Eventually we take to the water and become Deep Ones. Sooner rather than later, in my case. It won't be long.”

Ronon nodded, seeming to come to a decision. “So you're a monster.”

Rodney looked affronted for a moment before he closed off. And it had been going so well. “I am **not** a monster.”

Now it was Ronon's turn to look affronted before confusion set in. “Aren't you?” he asked. “You share dominance of a world with a human civilization. You trade with them, even breed with them, but you're not them. That's a monster.”

The door opened. Sheppard stood there holding a six pack of beer.

“I am **NOT** a monster!” Rodney snapped, teeth bared as he snarled in Ronon's face before storming off.

Sheppard stood aside out of instinct even as Rodney disappeared down the corridor. He turned to Ronon. “Really?” he demanded.

Ronon shrugged. “He's a monster,” he said as though it were the most normal thing in the world. “We had them on Sateda. Not human, never culled, only as involved in our society as they wished to be. A world with monsters is a lucky one; easier for civilizations to rebuild if monsters are there to remember what came before.”

Sheppard's eye twitched as he began to realize the problem here. “Ronon... Humans on Earth don't believe they're sharing the planet with anyone.”

Ronon gestured toward the door and the man who'd just left. “But you do.”

“But we do,” Sheppard agreed. “And most earthlings don't like to think about it. So much so that 'monster' does not mean what you think it means.”

“What?”

“On Earth a monster is an ugly scary thing that destroys lives and eats people. Usually children.”

Ronon's eyes went wide as he realized. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Ronon sat down heavily. “Well, shit.”

*****

Rodney snarled as the door to his quarters closed. He swiped claws at the wall, relishing the pain and the marks left on the otherwise perfect surface.

How could he have been so naïve? So **stupid**? Of course Ronon wouldn't accept him, his people had been culled by the only real non-human-looking thing they'd found in this galaxy! There was no reason to even attempt to understand.

Rodney hissed into the empty room. This wasn't going to plan. Ronon was supposed to be just as accepting as Sheppard; Ronon had no reason to fear him! The Deep Ones had never kidnapped a virgin on Ronon's world, never taken a city, never worked to conquer a region. Never brought up a shoggoth or raised a monstrous child to take to the water.

A monster.

That's what he was to Ronon, nothing more than a monster. Little better than the Wraith with his Wraith eyes and whatever else Ronon would come up with. Wraith color? Maybe those little nose holes the Wraith had were gills, maybe that could be another similarity. Rodney snarled into the empty room at the injustice of it all.

It wasn't even his fault! He was born this way! He never asked for this.

Never asked to be like this.

He couldn't stay here.

Maybe he could get a transfer and leave Atlantis, then he could escape into the night, somehow get to Arkham and Innsmouth and take to the water there. It was what Dad would have wanted, right? For the Marsh scion to return triumphant to Y'ha-nthlei?

Well then why couldn't he have done it his own damned self instead of shooting himself like a coward and leaving his son to do all the work and carry all the blood, huh? Why?!

Rodney grabbed a chair and threw it across the room with a shrieking howl.

The crash brought him out of his thoughts for a moment. He gasped for air, teeth bared and claws splayed. He couldn't panic, couldn't be raging like an animal, like a **monster**. He didn't have that luxury. First he had to contain the damage.

Obviously he couldn't stay on the team. But the Daedalus wouldn't be back for another four weeks. He had to hold out until then. Or maybe he could take to the water here? He'd been changing fast, his transformation accelerating. He might not even last long enough for a transfer.

But here was so empty, so quiet. He had no Nest here, not really.

But then what did Y'ha-nthlei offer? Members of his own kind? An eternity of servitude in the coils of Great Cthulhu? Family? Rodney snorted. He would be as alone there as here.

He didn't know what to do.

*****

“Look, just give him some time,” Sheppard pleaded.

“For what? To do something rash?” Ronon asked. He waved his hand in front of the crystals at Rodney's door. The door wouldn't open. Ronon tried again.

“Look, he's not going to do anything stupid,” Sheppard said. He hoped. “Just, let's figure this out.”

Ronon growled. The time for thinking was over. This situation required action before more thinking could ruin it. Stupid door, wouldn't open. He waved his arm over the crystals once more. Nothing.

“Look, we don't know if he's ready for thiii--” Sheppard's words cut off as Ronon grabbed him by the neck, picked him up, and waved him in front of the door crystals.

The door opened.

“What the hell?” Sheppard demanded even as Ronon walked inside.

The room was a mess. The bed was unmade, clothes were strewn over most surfaces, there were no less than three separate laptops in various states of activity, and the place had a definite fishy smell to it. A chessboard lay against one wall, pieces scattered all over the floor. Clawmarks gouged at the walls and the room's single chair lay in pieces in the corner.

It felt like the lair of an animal. Ronon looked around, appreciating the sense this place gave. It felt lived in, alive, owned. There was no careful order, no obsessive cleanliness, no sterile dispassion.

Ronon nodded, smiling. He liked it here.

A sloshing sound drew his attention. It seemed to be coming from the bathroom.

Ronon started toward the bathroom. A low hissed warning gave him pause, but only just.

The bathroom was huge. In the middle of the large room a gigantic tub recessed into the floor. Water filled it to the brim, stood in puddles around the room, dripped from the walls.

The water surged as something burst from it, grabbed the side with long claws, and hissed at him, teeth bared and eyes flashing Wraith-green. The monster snarled before sinking back down to the eyes, a low growl vibrating through the water.

Ronon could have sworn he'd heard words in that snarl, a distinct _Get out!_ echoing in his mind.

Sheppard grabbed at Ronon's wrist and tugged. “We should go,” he said.

Ronon took his wrist back and sat down at the edge of the tub, watching intently. The monster within was familiar and alien, its spine covered in silvery-green scales that shimmered lovely and ethereal in the dim light of the bathroom. Its hands were distinctive, long fingers with scars pale white against what fleshy coloration it had. It still wore Rodney's face, twisted in fury and shame even behind those Wraith-green eyes.

“We had monsters on Sateda,” Ronon said. “Furry river things with black noses and thick tails. We called them 'tlak-tcho' because that's what they called themselves. They lived near the rivers and lakes, where the farms were thickest.

“We were lucky to have them. Any world with monsters is a lucky one. The Wraith don't cull monsters and so they alone remember what came before.”

Ronon dipped one hand in the water. It was cold, smelled like seawater. He wasn't challenged or attacked so he continued.

“Farmers always knew that the tlak-tcho were good luck. Always hired them to help with plantings and harvests. They took their payment in cold iron and beer. A farmer would never slight the tlak-tcho because we remembered the stories from the previous culling.

“Legend says it was a brutal one, maybe as bad as the last one. Refugees fled into the country to hide, were taken in by the tlak-tcho. They kept us safe, hid us from the Wraith. Once the culling ended they even sheltered us through the winter. And when the snows receded they taught us how to farm, how to brew. We learned how to take farm leavings and distill it into medicine, fuel... They were why when the Wraith came again we were strong enough fight back. I don't care what you've heard, McKay, **that's** what a monster is.”

Rodney surfaced, taking in a large gasp of air. He sat in the water giving Ronon a strange look. “They don't... Take?” he asked, his voice scratchy with a horrible gurgle.

“Sometimes,” Ronon admitted. “They steal livestock, taking the meat and leaving the clean bones arranged in strange patterns. Children, sometimes, if they're unattended. I saw one hunt once, it cavorted and played and rolled, beckoning its prey to come close enough to grab. If my mother hadn't stopped me--”

Rodney's eyes went wide. “You were prey?”

“I was a child,” Ronon admitted. “And the tlak-tcho can look harmless when they choose. They have ears like this.” He put his hands on top of his head, mimicking a pair of animal ears. “No feet but four hands with black claws. Big black eyes and a long sleek body and whiskers. They don't have voices but they speak with their hands.”

“They Take... and you don't... hunt them?”

“Of course not. Who would remember us if not them?”

“But... Sssateda isss... gone.”

“But not lost,” Ronon said. “Not forgotten. Sateda will never be forgotten, not so long as there are monsters.”

Rodney sat up in the tub, the water reaching his shoulders. Ronon's 'monsters' sounded different yet so similar to the Deep Ones he remembered. But there wasn't a single note of fear in Ronon's voice. The man had even been hunted by this 'tlak tcho' and he still wasn't afraid! Instead there was a sense of wonder, respect, and an honest admiration. That was what Ronon thought of when he said 'monster'?

That was what he meant?

“I... think I can be... that type of 'monster'...” Rodney admitted. His voice grew clearer as he fought to regain some control over it. “It will take some time... to get used to...”

Ronon nodded. It would take time to get used to this new knowledge and he knew just how to get started. “Can I see?” he asked.

Rodney tried to cover himself with his hands out of habit. “Maybe a little more time than just that?”

Ronon grinned.

*****

Rodney sat down to his computer in the main lab and woke it up. He hadn't even gotten past the OS screen and welcoming 'ping' when a video started to play.

“It's beginning to look a lot like fish men...”

He slammed the screen closed but the music continued, loud and tinny through tiny speakers.

“everywhere I goooo... From the minute I got to town and started to look around... I thought these ill-bred people's gill slits shoooowed...”

Rodney opened the laptop to find the video still playing. His first thought wasn't about the insult or the implications, it was the realization that someone, somewhere, had spent actual time, effort, and bandwidth to bring this from Earth.

“I'm beginning to hear a lot of fish men... right outside my dooooor... As I try to escape in fright through the moonlit Innsmouth night I can hear some moooooore...”

Who would do such a thing? They could have spent that effort, that storage space on anything and they chose **this**?

“They speak with guttural croaks and to hear them provokes a profound desire to flee... Their eyes never blink and quite frankly they stink like a carcass washed up from the sea...”

Rodney felt a low hiss rise up from his throat. He could feel it reverberating in his chest even as he tried to tamp it down.

“I wish I'd paid attention to that crazy drunken man. He tried to warn me all about old Marsh's Deep One clan.”

Rodney glared at the scientists around him. Every set of eyes stared openly. He stared back, blinking slowly and deliberately.

“It's beginning to look a lot like fish men everywhere I goooo... They can dynamite Devil Reef but that'll bring no relief, Y'ha-nthlei is deeper than they knoooooow... I'll continue to see a lot of fish men... that I guarantee... For the fish man I really fear is the one who's in the mirror and he looks like me...”

“Really?!” Rodney finally demanded aloud.

“He looks juuuuuuust liiiiiiiike meeeeeee...”

Finally the video ended. It was all Rodney could do to keep from snarling at the screen that now looked deceptively un-hijacked. When he found out who...

A tiny noise broke his fury. He looked up in surprise at Dr. Kusanagi as she held out a small box, embarrassment and nervousness written all over her features. Rodney took the box, not knowing what else to do even as she scurried off back to her workstation and hid behind her monitor.

Rodney opened the box carefully. After what whoever did that to his computer...

The box contained... food? Little sushis filled with cucumber. What an odd... “Um... thank you?” he said, unsure what else to say.

She turned red and hid harder.

He tasted the scent off of one. Seemed decent. Tasted decent too.

Rodney decided to be confused later. Right now there was food and vengeance to design.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The video: [Fishmen](https://youtu.be/3tTHn2tHhcI) by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society


	3. Policies

Colonel Caldwell sat in General O'Neill's office. When he told Sheppard he could get the files he'd expected he could get the files. He hadn't expected this.

“It's been eighty years,” Caldwell said.

“Yeah, I know,” O'Neill agreed.

Both men sighed. Between them on the desk sat a single file folder, tabs marked with orange tape. The folder was stamped with a bright red 'TOP SECRET'.

They both had the feeling that the inside would be worse.

“I have to read you in,” O'Neill said. “Officially and everything. Delta Green insisted on being here at the SGC to make sure this file doesn't leave this room.”

“Colonel Sheppard's not going to like that.”

“Colonel Sheppard can bite me,” O'Neill said. “Dropping a bomb like that and then not saying who. If he's not careful Delta Green will petition the IOA to be allowed to send a strike team.”

“It's been **eighty years** ,” Caldwell said again.

O'Neill flipped open the file folder. An orange cover sheet with the title 'Project Covenant' prefaced the good stuff, all marked with 'TOPSERET/ORCON/RELSGC' and a single ominous footnote: “Copy #1 of 1 Copies”.

Caldwell looked at that footnote. He could already feel the headache starting.

“Well, let's get started,” O'Neill said.

The pages were highly redacted, great black lines scrawled across the words. “So much for the clean version,” O'Neill muttered.

Caldwell looked closer at the pages, more interested in... “The originals were burned,” he realized. He pointed to the jagged charcoal edges the photocopier had picked up.

“So they were,” O'Neill allowed. “Let's see what dirty laundry they were trying to cover up, shall we?”

*****

Project Covenant had five objectives. First, the Esoteric Order of Dagon, then the Marsh family. Next, destruction of the north side of town. Finally, isolation and then destruction of the Deep One menace.

The first objective had been a success. The church was seized, its leaders killed and all artifacts liberated. The files listed several artifacts, all of them redacted from the file. Supplementary information to this objective was available, an autopsy of the pastor that detailed all of the strange mutations his body had undergone before his death.

Caldwell took the copy of the autopsy and reviewed it while General O'Neill read on.

The second objective was a partial success. The majority of the Marsh family was killed in the raid, though the cause was apparently not the fault of the raiders. Any explanation must be under the heavy black ink that sprawled over most of these pages, erasing the truth from view. However, one artifact was retained intact. The file listed it as a treatise on human evolution authored by one Esther Marsh.

“There's no mention of the children,” O'Neill mused as he finished that section. “Look here, up front they list probable children, at least two of them under the age of eight. But they weren't listed among the captured or the dead.”

“Maybe they got 'lost',” Caldwell suggested. “Think about it, could you kill a kid?”

O'Neill looked ill.

The third objective was a success, though O'Neill had to pause here out of disgust. It was difficult to read about how the US military had laid dynamite under houses that they **knew**  to be occupied. Was there any sort of thought toward civilians? What could be down there that warranted such wanton destruction?

Oh.

“What's a... shoggoth?” Caldwell asked.

O'Neill looked at the description of the monster found in the tunnels. “No idea,” he admitted. “But apparently it killed a dozen men before it was put down.”

The fourth objective was a failure. The Coast Guard had been expected to patrol the harbor, preventing escape or reinforcement from the seaward side. The report read like a fairy tale of rogue waves **inside** the harbor, capsizes, sea monsters, and a gigantic behemoth of a Deep One who shrugged off blasts from the lead ship's 3-inch gun.

Caldwell and O'Neill paused here, both pondering. “You know, a sea monster in Atlantis might not be a bad idea,” O'Neill allowed. “D'you think they might be able to pull off some of these rogue waves?”

“Think I should ask?” Caldwell said wryly.

“I'm serious,” O'Neill said.

The fifth objective was listed as a success. The Navy sent an S-19 submarine to the base of Devil Reef with orders to torpedo the underwater city. The name was redacted though both men at this point knew what it was.

O'Neill sat back. “Well...”

“I'd say that was a bit of an overreaction but...” Caldwell didn't know what to make of the military's actions in those raids. From the files it seemed as though they'd just barely succeeded. Still, there was no mention of any intelligence that had been gathered before the raid. Could they seriously have just gone in without any clue what they were up against? And what had happened to the people, the prisoners?

In the back of the file folder were a few photographs, faded copies of copies. They were marked with serial numbers, a few words hastily added afterward. People. These were photos of people...

O'Neill and Caldwell spread out the photos and looked them over. The Innsmouth look was not always advanced in these individuals, which led to a general sense of nausea among the pair.

“How did they distinguish between affected and non?” Caldwell asked.

“Did they even try?” O'Neill countered. “Guilt by association, that sounds like Delta Green.”

Caldwell picked up a photo of a group of people, all wearing prison stripes and hobbled by chains. The photo seemed to be somewhat candid, taken during a prisoner transfer. Men and women but...

“There's no children here,” Caldwell realized.

“Probably got lost in the shuffle,” O'Neill said. “Or maybe adopted out?” He sounded far too hopeful.

Caldwell hummed and picked up another few photos. The files on the second objective suggested the Marsh family was a large one, multigenerational, and yet the only living captives were Bernard and Barbara, both teenagers at the time of the raid. Caldwell held their photographs in his hand.

There was something familiar about these two, even in black-and-white. Their large eyes and peeling skin proclaimed their inhumanity as much as the look of vile hatred that they leveled at the camera. Brother and sister clutched at each other despite their chains, the sister's image caught in mid-hiss as she tried to defend her younger brother while the brother sneered in superior contempt at the cameraman.

Caldwell dropped the photograph. “I know who the hybrid is,” he whispered.

“Do tell,” O'Neill said.

“Sheppard you rat bastard,” Caldwell said, though the tone in his voice was admiring. “One of 'your men' indeed. He's on your team so of course he's one of your men but since he's not ours...”

“Anytime now,” O'Neill drawled.

“It's Dr. McKay. He's the hybrid. Look, they have the same eyes.” Caldwell pointed to the photo of the siblings. “I bet if this were color they'd have the same hair. You haven't seen him lately, sir, but he's gotten creepy-looking. The whites of his eyes are gone, he can't move his neck right, and his skin is horrible. It's got to be him.”

O'Neill sat back in his chair, hands fidgety in thought. “And he's not US so there's nothing the military can do about it.” He paused for a long while before speaking again. “Colonel Caldwell, you should know that the SGC has no official guidelines for dealing with situations of this type or magnitude.”

“But there are unofficial ones,” Caldwell realized.

O'Neill nodded. “We've had them, unofficially, for about five years now,” he admitted. “Ever since, well, the exact events are need-to-know.”

“I see.”

“Unofficially, reverence to Yog-Sothoth is tolerated under certain circumstances,” O'Neill allowed. “If those circumstances happen to include 'all Gate travel' then so be it.”

Caldwell felt the headache getting worse as he remembered Kavanagh's ranting. “So Yog-Sothoth really is...”

“Yog-Sothoth is the Key, Yog-Sothoth is the Gate,” O'Neill allowed. “As long as no one dies, is sacrificed, disappears, or goes irreparably mad, the SGC takes no action. In view of recent events it may be prudent to expand such unofficial policies to Atlantis and to Deep One activity.”

“Makes sense,” Caldwell admitted. But something didn't sit quite right. “Are you saying there are seriously people here who worship Yog-Sothoth?”

O'Neill shrugged. “Worship is such a strong word.”

Caldwell groaned.

O'Neill closed the file folder and handed it to Caldwell. “Commit this to memory,” he ordered. “The file itself cannot leave this room but the information...”

“Understood, sir.” Caldwell opened the file and began to read.

*****

“To be frank, I've been looking over the personnel files and I'm a bit worried.”

Caldwell suppressed a glare. Here they were, a week into the Void, and Dr. Woolsey only brings up such concerns now? The man was being ferried to Atlantis in order to take command, surely he should have voiced these opinions earlier.

“It is true, Colonel, that you fielded complaints that Dr. McKay and several of his more, shall we say, favored scientists belonged to a dangerous cult?”

“That's the Cthulhu incident, isn't it.” Caldwell didn't pose it as a question. “Those complaints were found to be poorly executed attempts at a personal attack against Dr. McKay. Dr. Kavanagh has a history of taking professional disagreements personally and responding with personal and professional attack.”

“This Dr. Kavanagh voiced many concerns during the time he was with the Atlantis expedition, concerns that the IOA feels were never resolved in a satisfactory manner.”

“The SGC investigated these concerns and found them baseless,” Caldwell said carefully. “Personal attacks were found to follow Dr. Kavanagh throughout his career; that's why he was assigned to Midway before his own refusal to follow orders and protocol resulted in the destruction of the station.”

“There's no proof he knew beforehand the results of his actions.”

“There's no proof he knew otherwise.”

Woolsey let the matter drop, realizing he wouldn't win that one. “Getting back to the matter at hand, these allegations of a Cthulhu cult on Atlantis are serious and the IOA feels they were not fully investigated.”

“Officially the case is closed,” Caldwell said.

“Then is there an unofficial stance?”

Caldwell nodded. “It is understood that reverence of Cthulhu so far from R'lyeh is impractical. Therefore, a cult dedicated to Yog-Sothoth is considered more likely. The unofficial stance is that so long as the Gate continues to work and no one dies, is sacrificed, disappears, or goes mad, then the SGC will not interfere. The SGC feels that the IOA would do well to adopt a similar stance.”

Woolsey stared at Caldwell. All words were lost to him, reduced to a tiny squeak of protest.

“Glad we agree,” Caldwell said before taking the opportunity to end the meeting and escape to his quarters.

It was good to be the CO of a Daedalus-class battlecruiser. His quarters had amenities like a desk and a chair and a bathtub. He took full advantage of the comfy chair and sat back, putting his feet on his desk.

It took a moment for him to realize that perhaps he'd spent too much time around John Sheppard. He shifted his feet to get them off the stack of personnel files on his desk, picking up the stack to move it.

The chime on his door rang and Caldwell put his feet down. “What?” he called.

The door opened to a flustered Woolsey. He looked about to continue their conversation when he saw files and desk and deflated slightly. “I didn't know you had work to do,” Woolsey allowed. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “But we **will** be continuing our discussion.”

Woolsey left and the door slid closed.

Caldwell looked at the door, closed and innocent. He shook off the feeling that Woolsey meant that as a threat.

This trip was shaping up to be a nightmare. First Colonel Carter had to be told she was being reassigned, no official reason. It was Caldwell's job to make sure she didn't figure out why, that Dr. McKay being a sea monster with certain known tendencies put her at risk for assault. Dr. Woolsey had been brought in to replace her on painfully short notice; he was the only IOA representative with leadership experience who'd even been to Atlantis. There'd even been a problem with the newest shipment of Marines, three having been replaced the day before departure.

Caldwell sighed and rubbed his temples. Bureaucracy was not what he'd signed on for.

He glanced down at the files he held. Ah, yes, those three marines. Caldwell was curious as to what made these three particular marines so indispensable that the Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps had to get involved.

Their service records certainly weren't any better than the men they replaced, though they were involved in an inordinate number of classified missions. A weapons expert, a demolitions expert, and a communications expert, all three of whom had served together for over five years on various classified missions. Other than that their backgrounds were ordinary, their service was ordinary, the only thing was the small green triangle next to their rank.

Wait, what?

How had he missed this? Caldwell felt his blood run cold.

He had Delta Green operatives on his ship.

*****

After the fiasco involving a cocoon, a clone, and a virus Caldwell finally found time outside of crisis to leave the Daedalus. He found Sheppard by following the noise, ending up in the gym where the Lt. Colonel was blatantly ignoring medical orders while familiarizing himself with the new Marines through hand-to-hand combat.

Caldwell waited until the current challenger ended up on the floor and tapped out before announcing himself. “I thought you were under orders to take it easy.”

Sheppard made the effort to look like he was ignoring Caldwell.

“I need to talk to you,” Caldwell said. “In private.”

Sheppard gave him a glare.

“Not about that. This is about your, ah, previous request. I'm sure you'd like Dr. McKay there as well.”

It took Sheppard a moment before his eyes went wide. “Oh! Of course. Office?” Caldwell nodded and followed Sheppard down the corridor.

“So how'd you find out?” Sheppard asked.

“It wasn't difficult,” Caldwell admitted. “Not once I knew what I was looking for.”

Sheppard nodded. That made sense. “I'm sure you'll understand that McKay is worried about reprisal for this.”

“Of course,” Caldwell allowed. “I completely understand his fear and I can assure you, the SGC has no such plans nor wish to make such plans.”

“That's good to hear, sir,” Sheppard allowed. He tapped his radio. “McKay, I need to see you in my office.”

“What is it?” Rodney answered. “And would you have any idea why the radio chatter thinks we're fucking?”

“What? Just... will you get down here?”

“What for? We're trying to, you know, fix the giant **hole** you made in the wall here!”

“Now, McKay.”

A growl crackled through the radio. _Fine._

Sheppard and Caldwell got to the rarely-used office and sat down.

“So I hear Woolsey broke his first rules,” Caldwell said, trying to start a conversation.

“Yeah,” Sheppard said. “He was almost ashamed of himself. Went on and on about how if he couldn't rely on the rules then what could he rely on. I didn't have the heart to tell him that you can't be 'by the book' in a place that has no book.”

“I see... Maybe he'll take my advice then.”

“You gave Woolsey advice?”

“The SGC has some... unofficial policies that the IOA would do well to adopt,” Caldwell allowed. “I suggested he consider them. It would make Dr. McKay's life in particular a little easier.”

“Speaking of...” Sheppard trailed off as the door chimed.

Rodney stormed in. “Okay, Sheppard, what is it that's so important that I--” He stopped when he saw Caldwell sitting there. “Oh Great Mother no...”

“So I can assume you've figured out that I know?” Caldwell asked dryly.

Rodney McKay did something he hadn't done in a long time. He fainted dead away.

“I think you scared him,” Sheppard drawled.

“I didn't think he'd faint...”

“Well he still thinks the military wants to shoot him for the whole Innsmouth thing,” Sheppard said.

“He's not entirely wrong,” Caldwell admitted. “Are those... gills?”

“Yeah, we think they're fully formed,” Sheppard allowed. “But for some reason they haven't Burst yet.”

“'Burst?'”

John shrugged. “Rodney has a number of weird terms for stages in his Change. The skin on his neck hasn't torn or rotted off or whatever gross thing it's going to do in order to expose his gills.”

Caldwell gave Sheppard a look that clearly conveyed his sense of _eww_. “I can see why you use his terms for these things.”

John slid open one of Rodney's eyes. A half-closed nictitating membrane slid shut. “Hey, wake up,” he called. “I have coffee... Look, Caldwell's just here to talk.”

Rodney's eyes opened and glared at Sheppard. “Easy for you to say, you're not the one about to get shot.”

“I'm not here to shoot you,” Caldwell said. “I have information I thought you deserved to know.”

“Yeah, like what?” Rodney demanded.

“It took a few favors but I was able to get General O'Neill to read me into the Innsmouth files. Delta Green wouldn't allow me to bring them but it was the General's decision that you need to know regardless.”

“They're that secret?” Sheppard complained. “It's been eighty years!”

“That was my reaction,” Caldwell drawled.

Rodney climbed into a chair, mind reeling from what he'd just heard. Any chance to know what happened, what had really happened... He knew the family stories, heard tale of horrible atrocities but this, a chance at some sort of truth... “Tell me what happened.”

Caldwell nodded and launched into what he'd read about Project Covenant and its aftermath.

*****

When Caldwell finally stopped speaking he allowed himself to observe his audience. Sheppard wore the carefully neutral expression of a soldier who did not agree with his orders. McKay was less controlled, curled up with wide eyes and a low hiss rising from his throat.

“Why?” Sheppard demanded.

Rodney's hiss changed, deepened into a rumbling snarl.

“That's no excuse, McKay,” Sheppard snapped. “Why? How could they...” He trailed off.

Caldwell watched them both. Had Sheppard just responded to that... sound?

Rodney hissed again, his tone rising and falling with his breath.

“So that's where Delta Green began?” Sheppard asked.

“I have to assume so,” Caldwell allowed. “Which leads me to some good news and some bad news.”

“Good newssss... firssst...” Rodney said, straining to get the words out.

Caldwell nodded. “The SGC has an unofficial policy on cults of Yog-Sothoth that dates back several years now. That policy has been expanded to Deep Ones on Atlantis. So long as no one dies, disappears, is sacrificed, or goes irreparably mad then the SGC will not interfere.”

“That's good news,” Sheppard allowed.

“The bad news,” Caldwell said. He took a deep breath. This could be very bad news. “Three of your new marines have Delta Green clearance. They were transferred in at the last minute, there was nothing I could do.”

“It could mean anything,” Rodney said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “It could be reconnissssanssse... they could be ssspiesss... they could jussst want the Gate... they could be... could be...” _assassins..._

Sheppard sat back, lost in thought. If Delta Green was here then someone up top knew... Suddenly he blamed himself. If only he hadn't asked for the stupid files... “Who?”

“Warrant Officer Joe Doud, Captain Anthony Corso, and Master Gunner Lily Ryan,” Caldwell said. “They've worked together on classified missions before.”

“Who brought them in?”

“Assistant Commandant.”

“Shit...” Sheppard flopped back into his chair. “Does the SGC know?”

“I informed them of the situation,” Caldwell said. “There's nothing they can do until Delta Green makes their move.”

“And if that move isss killing me?!” Rodney demanded.

“Leave that to me,” Sheppard said. “I have a plan.”

*****

Rodney knew this was John's fault.

It was loud, it was obvious, it was blatant, it was going to get him into trouble, and somehow he could not bring himself to care.

Rodney stood in front of his own office door, admiring the artwork hanging there. Had Sheppard commissioned it? It didn't look like one of Lorne's but who knows. How much had Sheppard paid for this piece? Was it seriously just ink on paper? No, it seemed more like canvas. Was it even ink? It wasn't paint, there was no texture over and above the canvas. Did the Athosians have a painting technique like this? How many artists capable of this were even on Atlantis?

Covering his office door, nearly from floor to ceiling, hung a canvas, maybe even a tapestry. Black ink against pale canvas detailed a peculiar-looking Cthulhu. Great Cthulhu stood tall and thin in sweeping robes, tiny wings held behind him. He had an amused and inviting look on his tentacled face and both hands were held in front of him in a 'thumbs up' gesture. Blood red runes ran up and down to either side of him, runes that Rodney did not recognize as Wraith, Ancient, or even Aklo.

“Take it down.”

Rodney turned to the voice he heard behind him. Dr. Woolsey stood there, arms crossed and foot tapping. “Why?” Rodney asked.

Woolsey sputtered and pointed at the canvas. He just pointed, gesturing at the entirety of the subject matter.

“And?” Rodney asked.

“It's bad for morale,” Woolsey claimed. “After being accused of worshiping Cthulhu I can't **believe** you'd willingly associate yourself with the very thing you were accused of!”

Rodney looked around the lab. He could see far too many pairs of eyes paying full attention to him as they pretended to work. “Does anyone think this is bad for morale?” he asked.

Guilty eyes looked up as scientists realized they'd been had. But a question had been asked that needed an answer. A chorus of 'no's and 'of course not's and 'are you kidding's came from those scientists.

“Not bad for morale,” Rodney concluded, daring Woolsey to answer.

“But...”

“I think I might keep this here,” Rodney continued, admiring Sheppard's gall. “As a reminder of how absurd it is to worship Great Cthulhu so far from his house at R'yleh.”

“How dare you...”

“Have there been complaints?” Rodney asked.

“I'm lodging a complaint!” Woolsey shouted.

“Have there been any other complaints?”

Woolsey stayed quiet, fuming intensely.

“Great Cthulhu stays on my door,” Rodney said, turning to get back to work.

Woolsey was about to storm off when he picked up on something. “Dr. McKay, say the name 'Cthulhu'.”

Rodney glanced around the room. He could sense the opening. “Great Cthulhu,” he said.

“You can't even say his name without a title!” Woolsey accused. “How can you possibly expect me to believe you're not a cultist?!”

Rodney stood tall and loomed over the furious human. A low hiss rose from his throat and this time he did not try to stop it. “I alssso call them... Father Dagon... and Mother Hydra... doesss that make me... a Deep One?”

Woolsey shrank back, pulled himself together, and fled the lab.

Rodney sighed as he started to purr in triumph. That was easier than he'd thought it would be. For once it looked like Sheppard's harebrained scheme might work.

And then he remembered he was in the lab surrounded by scientists. _Oh Mother..._ The purring stopped as he looked around the room.

Several looks of annoyed disgust were aimed at a visibly smug Dr. Kusanagi as she collected what appeared to be lost bets. Dr. Zalenka looked encouraging, even proud. Most merely looked on in surprise. But there was a small group that had something akin to professional lust in their eyes. “Dr. McKay?” one asked.

“What?”

“Marine science has been wondering when we might be able to use the underwater puddlejumper bay. The control room is still underwater and is likely to remain so. Regardless, we feel a number of underwater surveys will give us a better idea of the effects that local currents and marine life might have on the city.”

And here was the downside of Sheppard's plan. Letting the science department find out meant letting the science department find out. They would want to take advantage of everything his Change meant, even before he took to the water.

“Soon,” he said. “Not yet. I'll let you know when.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Research:
> 
> Escape from Innsmouth by Chaosium, supplement for the Call of Cthulhu RPG
> 
> Delta Green by Pagan Publishing, RPG setting based on the Call of Cthulhu RPG


	4. Whispers

Teyla Emmagan was having a good day. Torren's nightly screaming fits had lessened since she took Jennifer's dietary advice; the doctor had called it 'colic' and suggested cutting down on the Earth foods she ate. Torren wasn't even hers at the moment, he was off being played with by all-too-willing parties. Best of all, Kanaan had been cleared to come home to Atlantis.

Yet there was one thing eating at her mind. There were... rumors about her friends. The one about Sheppard and McKay was amusing but ultimately harmless. The one about McKay himself, though, was more concerning.

“I'm telling you I was there,” came a voice from a nearby corridor. “They were in the gym, it was the middle of the night, and Ronon calls McKay a monster to his face. Right in his face! And McKay doesn't even flinch, he just laughs then growls and they fight. They're friggin' wresting!”

“Can't have happened,” came a second voice. “There's no way McKay would be in the gym.”

“I know it's hard to believe but--” The two voices turned the corner and stopped.

Teyla looked curiously at the two marines. They were some of the newest group just off of the Daedalus. She nodded politely at their suspicious stares and went her way.

This newest group of marines was less... pleasant than the ones they replaced. It was an old problem, where the newer men came in with too many bad ideas as to how the worlds worked, ideas that took almost a month to prove wrong.

She pushed that thought to the back of her mind where it belonged and wandered to the cafeteria where she would find... Ah yes, there they were. She got in the food line and watched as Rodney was just leaving, ranting to one of the scientists about not sleeping with Sheppard.

“What can I do to convince people that I'm not fucking Sheppard?” Rodney pleaded.

“Methinks thou doth protest too much,” his opponent said.

Rodney growled indignantly. “You'd protessst too if you were me. I mean look at him. He has no butt!”

“Hey!” Sheppard called from across the room. “I heard that!”

Rodney stalked off with his scientist, still arguing. Teyla had to hide her laughter as she sat down across from a pouting Sheppard. She gave him an apologetic look. “To be fair, he's right,” she said.

“Not you too,” Sheppard lamented.

Teyla offered to take Torren from his current caretaker. Ronon pretended not to notice as he bounced the baby on his knee while Torren made happy noises. Teyla conceded and dug into her meal.

“Ronon, man, back me up here,” Sheppard pleaded.

Ronon leveled him with a look that plainly detailed how he felt about having to answer this question. He finally held up a hand, palm sideways, and moved it up and down to mimic a flat thing.

Sheppard pouted.

Ronon noticed Torren was mewling and rooting around for a nipple. He poked Teyla and mimed his hand over his own chest as though grabbing an invisible breast.

“The moment I get a chance to eat something,” she bemoaned. Teyla took Torren gently from Ronon's arms and made ready to leave.

“Oh just feel him here,” sighed a defeated voice. Dr. Woolsey sat himself at their table uninvited. His presence was met with a chorus of raised eyebrows.

“Are you sure?” Teyla asked. “I can leave.”

“More scandalous things have happened in the past few days,” Woolsey dismissed.

Teyla, Ronon, and John looked at one another, shrugged, and Teyla settled back down. She slipped her shirt halfway off and cradled Torren so he could suckle. Once he was situated she returned to her own voracious feeding.

From across the room there came a soft 'moo' followed by the subtle crunch of a punch to the nose.

“Don't bother,” Sheppard murmured as he saw Woolsey's angry expression. “He got what he deserved for it.”

“Still...” Woolsey growled.

“He gets his nose broken he'll learn not to 'moo' over it,” Sheppard explained. “Let Keller lecture him where he can't escape. Let Teyla beat his ass in the gym. Let the little things sort themselves out. More effective than actually getting involved.”

Woolsey glared at his tray as though the cornbread had wronged him.

“Mr. Woolsey, I am curious about something I've been hearing often lately,” Teyla said, distracting him from the situation at hand. “What is a 'deep one'? I have heard several of the expedition members call Dr. McKay such a thing.”

“Perhaps that's something Dr. McKay should answer,” Woolsey said.

“I have not been able to corner him alone since I first heard the term,” Teyla admitted. “He is now always accompanied by his fellow scientists.”

“Probably a good thing with Delta Green lurking around,” Sheppard mumbled.

Ronon prodded Sheppard and gestured at Woolsey. He made several waving motions with his hands in an attempt to communicate. Sheppard nodded in understanding while Woolsey looked on confused.

“I agree,” Sheppard said. “That's going to be necessary.”

“What?” Woolsey asked.

“What's the IOA's stance on Deep Ones?” Sheppard asked.

“I... I don't know,” Woolsey admitted. “I haven't received an answer from my superiors.”

“Consider a hypothetical situation,” Sheppard drawled. “Imagine you're here in the Pegasus Galaxy like the rest of us and a situation arises, such as your head scientist being outed as a Deep One. Imagine you can't afford to wait on your superiors. It could be for any reason. Maybe Delta Green already has a strike team on Atlantis. Maybe the Pegasus Galaxy is far from Earth. Maybe the IOA is dragging their feet. Take your pick.”

Woolsey glared.

“Continuing to stay hypothetical here, imagine that head scientist now has a constant honor guard of fellow scientists. Maybe they're studying his Change. Maybe they know about Delta Green and are afraid to leave him alone. Maybe there's just a lot of new Marines here who don't yet know how Pegasus works. Who knows. In such a purely hypothetical situation, **Dr.** Woolsey, you are the IOA. You're the only IOA out here which makes it your decision.”

“I'll think about it,” Woolsey said quietly before leaving, his meal largely untouched.

“What is a 'deep one'?” Teyla asked.

Sheppard looked like he was trying to find a way to explain when Ronon took over, putting his hands to the top of his head like twitching animal ears.

“He's not a bunny rabbit,” Teyla said.

Ronon glared before poking her and miming the ears again. He added in bared teeth and a sinuous movement to his spine.

Teyla watched Ronon, trying to fight the urge to laugh at his odd antics. They looked almost like the dances she'd seen when... Wait... “You're saying Dr. McKay is a monster?” she realized.

Ronon nodded.

Sheppard prodded Ronon, glaring at him. They were in the middle of the cafeteria during the lunch rush.

Ronon did not look sorry.

*****

Torren would not let her sleep.

Putting him in darkness did not help. Pleading with him did not help. Stories did not help. The sound of the ocean did not help. Holding him and walking him around put him to sleep but the moment Teyla put him down he'd wake up and begin to cry again.

It was with a profound sense of resignation that Teyla found herself wandering the city's corridors in the middle of the night.

The few faces she passed were friendly, often melting into puddles of cuteness as they tried to wake and play with the baby or remarked on how he slept 'like an angel'. Teyla was unfamiliar with these 'angels' but if they screamed anything like Torren then she did not want to know them.

Her feet traced the familiar route through the control room, past Dr. Woolsey's office, then out into the city's arms to the gym.

As she got closer she could hear the sounds of combat. She was too tired to spar but perhaps the combatants would allow her to observe. She could at least watch a good match.

Teyla knocked on the open door before peering inside. She gasped.

Something was attacking Ronon.

Something large, grey, and scaly was grappling with the Satedan, holding his arms locked and using its strange webbed feet to take control of the man's movements. Ronon fought valiantly, unable to take back his arms even as he used his legs to keep the creature off-balance. No words came from the fight, only the snorts and snuffs of heavy breathing.

“By the Ancestors...”

Ronon looked up in shock and suddenly he had the upper hand of the wrestle. He rolled over onto his belly and stood, lifting the creature up with him and dropping it behind him like a big coat. He looked... sheepish?

“What is going on here?” Teyla demanded.

The creature finally looked up, a giant blue eye widening, and squealed as it grasped a familiar blue t-shirt and hid behind it.

Ronon pointed to the creature then placed his hands on his head like a pair of ears.

Teyla's eyes went wide. Earlier Ronon had said McKay was a monster. Could this be...

The creature held up the t-shirt like a curtain even as it snarled up at Ronon. Ronon merely shrugged in response and prodded it with his foot. The creature squealed and then spoke.

“You couldn't jussst let me sssay anything... noo... you had to tell her firssst...”

Teyla's breath hitched in her throat. She knew that voice. “Dr. McKay?” she asked.

The creature, Rodney, huffed. “No point in hiding it,” he lamented even as he put the t-shirt on. He stood up, less steady than he might once have been.

“So... this is a 'deep one'?” Teyla asked.

Rodney nodded, though his shoulders seemed to take the brunt of the movement.

“How?”

Rodney gestured for her to sit down on the bench where Ronon was guzzling from a waterbottle and checking for claw marks. He crouched down next to her.

“Deep Onesss have lived in Earth'sss oceansss... for many long yearsss... Legend sssaysss we were there firssst... before the Old Onesss uplifted the Ancientsss and took them gallivanting acrossss the galaxy...”

“The Ancestors?” Teyla wondered.

“The Ancestors had their own monsters,” Ronon said, his voice scratchy from recent traumas. “Creatures of the stars who flew the Void on great wings and gave them the Gates. But the Ancestors betrayed them.”

“The Old Onesss were felled... by their own creationsss... dessstroyed by the sssame hubrisss that nearly felled the Ancientsss... and ssso when humansss arossse again on Earth... it wasss the Deep Onesss who did the uplifting...

“The Deep Onesss taught them to ssstand... to fish... to hunt... and to pray... And in return the hybridsss came to be...”

“McKay tells me these Deep Ones breed with Earth humans,” Ronon said. “Those 'hybrids' look human at first but eventually they go through a Change, taking to the water to become Deep Ones like their forefathers.”

“Foremothersss... in my cassse...”

“You are a sea monster?” Teyla asked.

“I will be... when I've Changed... until then I'm... ssstuck looking trapped halfway...”

“Gives you time to get used to it,” Ronon said. “It's all different, admit it.”

Rodney hissed at Ronon.

Ronon slapped him on the back, knocking the hiss right out of him. “Let's go again. Shirt off, McKay.”

Rodney grumbled as he peeled the t-shirt off. The musculature visible beneath Rodney's grey-green skin was indeed just off enough to seem strange. Teyla watched as Rodney crouched low on one side of the gym.

The match began, though there was no sign or signal to mark it. Rather, Rodney began circling Ronon, moving on all fours in an odd hopping motion. Ronon crouched down, hands grasping slowly at the air in preparation for the grapple.

Ronon lunged first. Rodney leapt up, kicking off of Ronon's shoulders as he vaulted the man.

Ronon found himself sprawled on the mat, grinning as he picked himself up. The circling began again.

Rodney lunged, charging low and fast as he rammed into Ronon's middle. The 'oof' was muffled by low growls from both parties as Ronon used Rodney's momentum to roll over the charge, dragging Rodney off of his feet. The scuffle continued on the floor, Ronon grabbing Rodney in a headlock while Rodney's claws left great rents in the mat. Powerful legs kicked out against nothing, unable to gain the leverage necessary to break the hold around his neck.

Rodney pounded the floor.

Ronon let go and got to his feet. He offered a hand that Rodney did not take. He was too busy gasping and hacking at the horrible torn feeling inside his neck. He shook himself all over but it just made the tearing feel worse.

“Dr. McKay, are you all right?” Teyla asked.

Rodney looked up at her. He reached up to his own neck.

It was wet.

Blood...

“Outssside...” he hissed. “Have to get... to the water...” He hoped he was right about what was happening to him.

Ronon nodded. He grabbed Rodney around the middle and hauled him up to three limbs. Rodney forced himself to stand and stumbled out of the gym, into the night.

Teyla and Ronon looked at each other and a silent decision was reached. They had to make sure Rodney was all right and that he reached his destination. Teyla hoisted Torren into her arms and carried him even as she prepared for the hunt.

“What is going on?” Teyla asked as she and Ronon tracked their friend.

“He told me,” Ronon allowed. “The Change breaks the mind. I thought if he could learn the monster's instincts before he Changed he would keep more of himself.”

“How long has this been going on?”

They came to a T-intersection. Ronon sniffed at the air before pointing down a corridor. They followed the scent of fish. “He says this began before he was born,” Ronon said.

“That I assumed or Dr. Keller would have done something,” Teyla snapped. She shook her head, clearing it of her anger. “I meant these efforts of yours.”

“Not long,” Ronon admitted. “The first time I had to bodily drag him here. He complained the whole first few nights.”

“That sounds like our Rodney,” she allowed.

The scent trail ended at a transporter. Ronon growled at it. Rodney could be anywhere by now.

“I suppose we will have to trust him,” Teyla allowed. “And in the Ancestors.”

Ronon shook his head. “They were not his Ancestors.”

*****

A lone straggler wandered into the biweekly staff meeting. Eyes turned to stare as he walked in, head held high as if daring any of them to say a word.

Woolsey stopped mid-sentence and stared openly. It really was true. Oh, sure, McKay had essentially said as much but **this**...

Rodney sauntered into the conference room, soaking wet. Water squished with every step, dripped from what hair he had left, soaked his clothes. Not that he wore much clothes, only a pair of fatigue pants and a t-shirt. He walked up to the table and with a grand gesture dropped something on it.

Splut.

Rodney pointed to the object, a semi-squishy purple-red blob with short spines. “Thossse... are stuck to the underside of the city,” he said, oddly triumphant. “All over the stardrives.”

Sheppard's eyes went wide as he realized. “Your gills burst last night, didn't they.”

Rodney purred.

“That answers that,” Keller said.

“No it doesn't,” Woolsey snapped.

“You think these are causing drain of power?” Zelenka asked.

“Well they're not feeding the drives,” Rodney said. “Feeding on, maybe. Get it analyzed, see what damage it's causing.”

“That will require readings at the source,” Zelenka said.

“I can get those. Oh, and get biology to see if they're poisonous or not. Maybe we can eat them. Who's for sushi?”

“That would solve our meat shortage,” Teyla allowed.

Ronon poked the blob. It wrapped its spines around his finger and tried to crawl up his hand. He shook it off, sending it flying against a wall.

“Only if Conan here doesn't lose it,” Rodney snapped as he peeled it off of the glass wall.

“It's not lost, just over there,” Sheppard drawled. Ronon prodded him with an elbow and grinned.

“Stardrives are vast, is too much time to clear,” Zelenka said. “If creatures are feeding on power perhaps we can poison their food, drop them off. Unless they are food, of course.”

“Even so, they're getting in the way of...” Rodney's voice trained off as he got an idea. He began to purr. _Radek, Jennifer, I need both of you. I have an idea._

“Right then, let's get on it,” Keller said. She and Zelenka followed Rodney out of the conference room.

Woolsey merely sat at the head of the table, wondering what had just happened. First he was seeing irrefutable proof that Dr. McKay was a Deep One then suddenly his meeting was hijacked and now there might be sushi. Also creatures were eating their stardrives and that was **not** a voice McKay used, how did they hear him?

“So... has the IOA reached a decision?” Teyla asked.

“No,” Woolsey admitted. “They wanted absolute proof of Dr. McKay's inhumanity. I suppose recent events should be enough for them.”

“And if it isn't?”

“Hmm?”

“If the IOA continues to stall, what will you do?” she asked.

“They'll come up with a decision,” Woolsey said, though he did not sound convinced.

“Yes, and while you're waiting on their decision I've made one of my own,” Sheppard said. “I'm making the SGC's unofficial policy official. It's too dangerous to allow loopholes to stand right now.”

“The IOA has also dismissed your concerns of a Delta Green strike team on Atlantis,” Woolsey said. “Just because there are marines on the base with Delta Green clearance does not make them a strike team.”

Sheppard stood up. “Then I'm glad one of us is doing something,” he said, adding in a sarcastic “sir.”

“Mr. Woolsey, you are the IOA out here,” Teyla said diplomatically. “No one will make the difficult decisions for you. If you can't do that then you should not have taken the position.”

Sheppard, Ronon, and Teyla got up to leave. “So how did you get McKay in the gym?” Sheppard asked. The door closed before Woolsey could hear an answer.

He was alone in the conference room. Woolsey laid his head on the table. This was not what he'd signed up for. “Dr. Weir, help me,” he pleaded to a ghost. “What am I supposed to do? What would you have done?”

There was no answer.

 


	5. Fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some banter lifted from the episode courtesy of the Gateworld.net transcript.

The parasite was gone.

Jeannie Miller sat by Meredith's bed as he recovered in the infirmary. They'd saved his mind, hopefully, but it was already too late to save his body. Oh god, he was hideous. It was the same condition that drove their father to kill himself, it had to be. But even Dad hadn't been this far gone...

Dr. Keller came over to sit next to her. “You okay?” she asked.

Jeannie smiled wryly. “I hope we did the right thing,” she said.

“I do too.”

Jeannie's face fell as she turned back to look at her brother, or what remained of him. His eyes were huge, his skull was shaped all wrong, his neck was a mess, was this what their father would have become? “He has a degenerative disease,” she said. “It's heritable. Dad had it. Can't you do anything about it?”

Keller looked at Jeannie thoughtfully. Rodney had once said that he'd never told his sister but Keller hadn't believed it. Now she wasn't so sure. “What do you know about it?” she asked.

“I know Dad had it,” Jeannie said, shuddering as she remembered. “I know it drove him to commit suicide.”

“What did he look like when he died? If you don't mind me asking...”

“I barely recognized him,” Jeannie said. “His skin was covered in grey-silver plaques, his hands and feet were webbed, his spine was all hunched over, the skin on his neck was all shriveled, but his face... He didn't look human anymore. And Meredith has the same thing. Tell me, did he ever ask you to fix it?”

“No,” Keller admitted. “He never did.”

“What about Carson?”

Keller shook her head. “The most he could do was delay it and you see how well that's worked. It's not a disease, Mrs. Miller, nor is it truly degenerative. But it is genetic.”

“What?”

“I suggest you ask Rodney about it when he wakes up. Why don't you go and get some sleep? I'm going to be here all night.”

“No, it's okay. I'd like to be here when he wakes up.”

“Well, it could be awhile,” Keller said, trying to inject some humor into the room. “He does love to sleep, our Rodney.”

“You should have seen him when he was a teenager.”

“Who can sleep with all the talking?” asked a drowsy voice from the bed. Rodney opened his eyes.

“Hi,” Jeannie exclaimed.

“Hi,” Rodney murmured. He rolled over somewhat to look at her.

“You still, uh...” Jeannie gestured to her own head in an effort to find only moderately insulting words. “...all there?”

Rodney smirked at her effort. “Well there was **so** much to spare,” he mocked.

Keller and Jeannie smiled ruefully.

Rodney turned his attention to Keller. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“You're welcome.”

“It was scary,” he admitted.

“For me too...”

Rodney nodded, holding the moment for probably a little too long before he looked away.

“You hungry?” Keller asked.

Rodney waved his hand in a so-so motion. “Peckish,” he said, attempting nonchalance.

The women laughed and Keller left to give him time with his sister.

Jeannie tucked her brother in and smiled, relieved by the fact that he was not only alive but also himself again.

*****

Atlantis was different from the last time she'd been here. It wasn't anything Jeannie could put her finger on but it was definitely different. Certain members of the military seemed overly jumpy around her, Some of the scientists watched her intently as though expecting something. She even caught one of them following her late one day.

She found herself in the labs, taking in its comfortable familiarity. Meredith wouldn't be here, he was still confined to the infirmary. Jeannie couldn't fault the doctor; if she had a patient with Mer's condition she wouldn't let him go either. Who knows what the parasite did considering the damage already done to his ravaged system?

And why did Meredith have a giant tapestry of Great Cthulhu on his office door? Surely he hadn't bought into Dad's 'Esoteric Order' bullshit.

“Mrs. Miller, it's good to see you.”

Jeannie turned around toward the voice. A tiny Japanese woman stood there. Dr. Kusi... Kuse... Kusa-something. “Miko, right?” Jeannie said.

Dr. Kusanagi nodded. “We have all heard Dr. McKay will be recovered soon,” she said. “This news pleases us all. It has been horrible without him.”

Jeannie held back the snort.

“But he will be back soon and we can put all of the recent unpleasantness behind us.”

“And the normal unpleasantness will resume?” Jeannie asked.

Miko shrugged. “Is not unpleasant,” she defended. “It grows less unpleasant by the day. Work is faster when we can all hear, after all.”

Jeannie frowned, confused. “I suppose it is,” she allowed. She excused herself and headed deeper into the labs. She found a friendly face talking to a pair of scientists.

“Just look,” Radek said, clearly in the middle of an argument. “Is she really capable of task? Does she look so?”

Jeannie stopped her approach when three pairs of eyes turned to her, eyeing her like an interesting sample.

“I suppose not. That is sad, quite sad.”

“What's sad?” Jeannie asked, suspicious.

“Nothing important,” Radek assured even as he glared his colleagues into silence.

Jeannie backed away and made to leave. It didn't stop her from hearing the conversation continue behind her.

“She's his sister, what do you mean she doesn't know? How couldn't she?”

“Well she obviously doesn't have it.”

She left the lab, putting the strangeness behind her.

*****

“I just feel like everybody knows something about Meredith that I don't,” Jeannie complained.

She sat in the cafeteria with Ronon, half-finished trays of an odd purple-red meat product between them. He had sat there patiently as she ranted about the science lab and the marines and the general sense of oddness she was finding here on Atlantis.

“That's because we do,” Ronon said.

Jeannie glared at him.

“The McKay I've known for three years is not the Meredith you tell stories about,” Ronon said. “He has grown into something else. You have not been here to see it.”

“I'm here now,” she pouted.

“And you refuse to see anything more than your Meredith. He'll never be more than that to you if you don't let yourself see what he is now and what he's becoming.”

Ronon's choice of words felt slightly wrong. She chalked it up to him not being from Earth. “And how do you propose I do that?” she asked.

Ronon shrugged. “I dragged him to the gym.”

Jeannie did snort this time. “I can't imagine Meredith in a gym, forced or otherwise.”

“There are many things he does that you can't imagine.”

There it was again, the sense that everyone knew more than she did but refused to be the one to tell her. Frankly it was getting annoying. “Then why don't you tell me,” she dared.

“Not my call,” Ronon said. “Talk to him before you leave. Before it's too late.”

“Too late?” Jeannie demanded. “What do you mean 'too late'?!”

Ronon merely picked up his tray, dumped the leftovers, and left the cafeteria while Jeannie shouted after him.

*****

The Daedalus left tomorrow and Jeannie could not wait. She wanted, needed to get away from the odd conspiracy that permeated the entirety of Atlantis. Worse, it seemed to be about her and Meredith, like everyone knew this big secret that she wasn't allowed to know. A secret about her!

It wasn't even fair.

Her door chimed. She sighed before shouting for whomever it was to come in. “Meredith?”

Rodney invited himself in, allowing the door to close behind him. “Shouldn't you be packing?” he asked.

Jeannie gestured to the single bag she had, clothes and books neatly stacked.

Rodney hummed in agreement. He looked lost in thought as he sat on her bed and gestured for her to sit beside him.

A horrible feeling came over her. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Don't tell me it didn't really work.”

“What? Oh, it worked just fine, the parasite's gone, just sit down,” Rodney said, annoyed and nervous.

“Oh, good.” Jeannie sat down, trying not to touch him. The peeling skin made it just too weird.

“So it was suggested I talk to you,” Rodney began. “About Dad.”

“What brought this up?”

“You did. All week, all over Atlantis. Jennifer kind of threatened to exile me to my quarters if I didn't talk to you about it.”

Jeannie snorted. “Wait, she threatened to send you to your room?”

“Shut up.”

“She did, didn't she?” Jeannie snickered.

“Do you want to talk about it or should I just go get myself sent to my room?” Rodney demanded, moving to get up to leave.

“Stay. I don't particularly want to talk about Dad but just stay, please?”

Rodney sat back down. He fiddled with his own claws, feeling their blunted points. They didn't even look like fingernails anymore, how could Jeannie not notice?

“You smell like fish,” Jeannie said.

“People tell me that happens,” Rodney said. “I can't smell anything anymore so I don't even notice.”

“And when did this start?”

Rodney sighed. “This is what I needed to talk to you about.” He got up and began pacing the room. “Dad always liked me best, or more likely hated me least. You know this, so do I. But did you ever know why?”

Jeannie scowled. “You went along with his crazy, I didn't.”

“There's more than that,” Rodney said. “And it's not because you were a girl, either.”

“I did wonder...”

“Dad liked you least because of this 'degenerative genetic disease', as you called it.” Rodney spat out the words like they were as distasteful to say as to hear. “A 'disease'. As if this could possibly be the result of a simple disease. No, it's more than that. Much more. And you don't have it. You're normal, Jeannie, and he considered that a personal failure.”

“What?” Jeannie whispered.

Rodney took his sister's hands in his own and looked her in the eyes. “Out of Gramma and Dad and you and I, you were the only one born human.”

Jeannie pulled her hands from Rodney's. “You're crazy,” she whispered.

Rodney pulled away from her. “I may be,” he admitted. “But that doesn't change reality.”

“You're butt-ugly, Mer, but that doesn't make you inhuman.”

Rodney rolled up one sleeve to show the silver-grey scales that hid beneath. “Then I suppose these are a delusion?” he asked.

Jeannie stared openly. She shook her head, unwilling to believe.

Rodney growled, letting his voice fall into a hiss. “And I sssuppossse... all voisssesss... can sssound... like... _**THISSS...**_ ” The hiss rumbled before breaking into an ear-splitting shriek.

Jeannie clamped her hands over her ears. That sound... was nothing she'd ever heard. And Mer's voice... It seemed to be coming from inside her head even as those horrible sounds continued.

_There's skepticism... And then there's blindness... You've been keeping yourself blind your whole life while Dad Changed right in front of you, while I Change here and now... Why can't you see?_

_Or do you not **want** to see..._

“You're not my brother,” Jeanie whispered.

_Yes I am._

“No... my brother's human.” Jeannie's voice grew stronger despite the stench of fish and the terrifying sounds coming from the creature before her. “My father was human. I don't know who or what you are but you're not my brother!”

Rodney snarled. “ **None** of usss were!”

“We are! God dammit Mer, what's happened to you out here? If you really are my brother, tell me what strange alien **thing** did this to you!”

“We're Deep Onesss,” Rodney snapped. “Lovecraft got it right, for fuck'sssssssake. Thiss issn't alien, it'sss the mossst Earth thing in thisss whole galaxxxy...”

“No...”

“Gramma's real name wasss... Rosalyn Marsh... She escaped the raidsss on Innsmouth in 1928 when she was eight years old. Gramma Changed... Dad was almost Changed... I'm almost Changed...”

“It's not possible,” Jeannie whimpered.

“It is.”

Something snapped in Jeannie's mind. “NO! No no no it's not possible! There's no such thing!”

“I swear to you it's true.”

“You're not my brother,” she screamed. “You're a monster, just like Dad! A monster pretending to be my brother!”

“You don't get to call me that,” Rodney warned.

“You don't get to threaten me!” Jeannie grabbed a book and started swinging it wildly like a weapon.

Rodney hissed as he slunk away.

“Get out!” she shrieked. “Leave! Just like Dad left! You've done it once before, it should be easy! Out! OUT!”

Rodney hit the door, thought it open.

“I never want to see you again, you, you **monster**!” She threw the book after him as he left.

The door slid closed.

Jeannie stood staring, unseeing at the door for a few minutes, gasping for breath. Gasps turned to sobs and before she knew it she was huddled next to the bed, crying. This couldn't be happening. Not now.

She'd just got her brother back. And now...

She'd lost him again. But this time there was no mystical shrine to bring him back.

*****

Jeannie couldn't sleep. She hadn't left her quarters since Meredith left. She was hungry but too nauseous to eat, exhausted but too wound up to sleep. Instead she gave up, found a robe and slippers, and wandered off into the city. She followed a path she knew well and ended up in the cafeteria. The smell of food had all but faded, replaced by the burnt stench of unwashed coffee pots sitting empty on hot warmers. The lights were low and the tables were only sparsely populated.

Even those few faces turned to stare accusingly at her. Jeannie held her head high even as she knew that they knew. Mer obviously couldn't keep his mouth shut and word had traveled. Of course.

Jeannie poured herself a mug of hot water and grabbed a tea bag. She didn't feel like food, especially not these strange purple-red leftovers. She found herself a table in the corner and glared at her steeping tea.

“Did the tea offend you?”

Jeannie turned her glare to the source of that voice, a short-haired woman with a tray. The glare faded as she put on a polite face. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“I know some of the native teas are pretty offensive but usually you have to drink it first.” The woman gestured to the seat across from Jeannie. “May I join you?”

Jeannie sighed and went back to staring at her tea. “I'm not exactly good company at the moment.”

“Not a problem.” The woman sat down. “Lily, Lily Ryan. You must be Jeannie Miller.”

Jeannie slumped down. “Does everybody know?”

Lily began unpeeling a saran-wrapped sandwich. “To be fair, it's not like McKay had to say anything. Half the science department knew about it before he'd even left your room.”

Jeannie dropped her head down on the table.

“It's not their fault,” Lily continued. She took apart her sandwich to squeeze a packet of mustard into it. “I've heard a theory that Deep Ones are telepathic. Not easy to test but evidence does point toward it. Especially with the screaming earlier today. What did you even say to him?”

Jeannie looked at Lily with a look of sheer horror before slumping back down in a glare.

Lily just took a bite of her sandwich.

Stubbornness reigned as Jeannie pulled her tea bag from her mug and took a defiant sip. And made a face. Lily was right, this tea was offensive.

“Told you,” Lily said. “Totally offensive. Keeps you going, though.”

“I bet.” Jeannie took another sip. Oof. The tea had a leafy kick to it behind the deceptively pleasant smell of steeped flowers.

“You know, this is kind of his fault, too,” Lily said. “He should have told you sooner. Hell, your parents should have told you. I can understand trying to hide it, trust me, I do, but to not tell their own children what they are...”

“I still can't believe it,” Jeannie said. “Shouldn't there have been some sort of physical sign?”

“Wasn't there?”

Jeannie shrugged. “Meredith did have webbed hands when he was younger. He called me right after he got his second PhD, told me he'd just taken a knife to his own hands. He cut the webbing out with a kitchen knife and was hoping I could bandage it for him. I was halfway across the country, what did he expect me to do?”

“I guess there was.”

“I meant these past few years,” Jeannie said, grasping for normality. “I know I only saw him a few times but...” But he **had** been changing. His eyes were wrong even two years ago, his skin peeling. He never wore the short-sleeved shirts he used to wear when he was younger. Had he been hiding something?

Lily watched Jeannie's face fall in realization.

“It's true...”

“That's what I hear,” Lily said.

Jeannie's head fell into her hands. A sob broke from her throat.

Lily finished one half of her sandwich and opened the other half, squeezing more mustard into it. “You wanna try talking to him about it before you leave?” she asked.

“No.” Jeannie sat up. “After today I doubt he'll ever want to see me again.”

“You sure about that?”

“You don't know Meredith like I do. It's probably better if I just leave and never come back.”

Lily hummed as she put her sandwich back together. “Well, it's up to you,” she said. “McKay's probably holed up somewhere wet, likely with his... thralls. He's not going to seek you out. If you leave tomorrow without talking to him I doubt you will ever hear from him again. But this isn't just about you or him, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

Lily took a bite of sandwich. “I hear you have a kid,” she said, mouth full. “Deep One blood is known to skip generations.”

“Madison?” Jeannie wondered. “But what do you...”

Lily watched that same realization come back.

“Oh...” Jeannie said.

“Yeah, 'oh'.”

“But wouldn't there be signs? I mean, Meredith had signs that started when he was...” When he was in his very late teens. He'd been normal until then, mostly, just as normal as Madison. “I've got to find Meredith.” She chugged her tea, pausing only to make a face at the empty mug before running off into the city.

She went to his rooms first. She wouldn't panic until she knew he wasn't there. She waved her hands over the chime with a little more force than was necessary, hoping against hope that he was simply hiding out here.

To her infinite relief the door opened. And then that relief was dashed by what she saw.

Ronon. And he was...

Naked?

Oh my.

Jeannie blushed as she tried not to look down at the man's middle. But she couldn't meet his eyes, either. Instead she ended up staring straight ahead at his chest. It was a very nice chest...

Jeannie's blush got deeper.

“Put some pants on! Who is it?”

Ronon ignored the voice from within the room as he regarded the younger McKay sibling, waiting for her to speak.

“Is... Is he here?” Jeannie asked. “I have to talk to him.”

“Yes you do.” Ronon did not move out of the doorway.

“Please?” she asked.

Ronon crossed his arms over his chest.

“May I come in?”

“You called him a monster,” Ronon said.

“I know and I'm sorry, can I come in?”

Ronon stayed in the doorway, daring her to cross him.

“Pants, Ronon.” Colonel Sheppard stormed out from deeper in the rooms. At least he wore a bathrobe.

“Don't need them,” Ronon said.

“Like hell you-- Mrs. Miller?”

Jeannie finally had something other than Ronon's nakedness to look at. “John, please let me in, I need to talk to Meredith.”

“But does he want to talk to you?” Ronon asked.

“Look, I know he's angry and he has every right to be,” Jeannie pleaded. “But I know that if we leave it like this it'll never get better and I... I can't do that again. Maybe he can but I can't. Please, if he'll just talk to me...”

Sheppard took her wrist and led her into the room, though he didn't let go until she was inside and the door closed. “Ronon, go convince Rodney.”

Ronon smirked and walked, naked and confident, into the bathroom.

“What's going on?” Jeannie asked. “Why's everyone naked in Mer's room?”

A splash and an animal shriek drowned out any answer John may have given her. It grew worse as Ronon walked into the room carrying some kind of... creature. It was greyish-green with a white belly, shiny from the water that cascaded over its skin. It had webbed feet and scales, even a spiny ridge down its back. Ronon tossed the snarling, barking creature onto the bed.

It twisted in the air, landing on four feet. It planted its claws and snarled at Ronon, too many sharp teeth bared in fury or perhaps challenge.

Jeannie... recognized it. “Meredith?” she asked in a small voice.

The creature turned to her. It, it-- **he** went quiet for a split second before he squealed and hopped back, falling off the bed and dragging half the bedding with him. Among the sounds Jeannie could make out a single word. “Ow.”

Ronon picked up the blankets and piled them back on the bed.

“Oh my god, Meredith, is that you?” Jeannie asked.

Rodney growled. “Who do you think it isss?” He clawed his way back up onto the bed. “Oh, I know... you think I'm sssome **monssster** who took hisss plassse...”

“Look, I'm sorry Mer, but you of all people should understand--”

“No, **you** should have underssstood! You sssaw what Dad wasss... you desssided to ignore it all!”

“And what was I supposed to do, just accept fantasy as reality?!”

“You're in the lossst sssity of Atlantisss in another galaxxxy, that'sss a pretty good idea!”

Jeannie had no answer to that but she wasn't going to give up the argument. “And how did they react?” she demanded, pointing to Ronon and Sheppard. “Do you expect me to believe they just accepted this and moved on?”

“And why wouldn't they?” Rodney countered, a low growl rolling in his throat. “They're my friendsss... They've ssseen what I can do... And they don't delude themssselvesss into believing I'm ssstill 19!”

Jeannie gestured wildly, trying to find some sort of argument, something to make her right again. It wasn't coming.

“When they call me a monssster there'sss no hatred beneath it,” Rodney said. “They at leassst try to underssstand when I'm ssscared... when I feel like I'm losssing sssomething... They don't abandon me like Dad did... like you did... And they don't think I'm insssane...”

Jeannie's flailing fell apart. She sat heavily on the bed.

“Why are you here?” Rodney asked.

“I don't know,” Jeannie admitted. “I had to. I couldn't leave it like this.”

“Why not?”

“I... I... What if this thing skips generations? What if Madison takes after Dad? Kaleb and I were talking about having another kid, Mer! What if I give this, this **thing** to them?”

Rodney closed off and turned away from her.

“Mer, please! Mom's nuts and Dad's gone, all I have to help me is you! Please...”

“Raise them,” Ronon said. “If they turn, they turn. Just don't love them less if they do.”

Jeannie sat quietly in thought. How could she do this? What would she do if Madison grew up like... well, like Meredith? And what if she and Kaleb did have more children? Would they all turn into monsters? Oh god, how could she even tell him?

“I used to wish I was like you,” Rodney whispered. “Human. Normal. I wouldn't be in the throes of this Change, I wouldn't have to worry about people finding out, I wouldn't have to leave everyone I cared about when the Change finished. And then I came here, to Atlantis. At first the Change was slow but then... then people started finding out and it wasn't so bad. Most everyone has accepted it and those that haven't tend to just stay away from me. And now... I won't have to leave when the Change is over, I can stay here. In the city. Stay here with my Nest.”

“You're going to stay here?” Jeannie asked.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched out again until Jeannie broke it. “You know, you don't have to give up being human.”

Rodney snorted and waved his clawed hands in the air like they were paws. “That ship sailed a loooong time ago. Trying to get it back has caused me nothing but pain.”

“But what if you find someone who loves you?”

“Like Katie?” Rodney snapped. “As soon as she found out what I am she transferred out of the city just to get away from me. I asked her to marry me, Jeannie. She said yes! And then she found out and that ended that.”

“I'm sorry...”

“Yeah, well I'm sorry too.”

The door chimed. Ronon walked over to get it, still eschewing pants.

“Pirate Pete has taken to his name,” came the rant as Dr. Zelenka came in holding a box of unmarked brown glass bottles. “His prices are outrageous. A whole litre just for this. If others here could brew beer I swear...”

Radek stopped as he saw Jeannie on the bed. Her eyes lit up as she saw someone clothed.

“None for you,” Radek declared before handing the box over to Ronon. “And you, do not drink all this time.”

Ronon happily took the box and disappeared into the bathroom with it.

“I... think I'll help him get started,” Sheppard said, following.

“Look, I said I was sorry,” Jeannie pleaded, though why she was saying this to Radek she had no idea.

“Was it enough?” Radek asked. He started taking off his own clothes.

“I don't know. And, Mer, why is there this much naked in here?”

“Is too many naked men, I agree,” Radek said. “There should be naked women for balance. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

Jeannie leaned away from Radek.

Rodney glared, though he did not growl. “She's my sister.”

“Is just a suggestion.”

“I did not need to know this about you, Mer,” Jeannie lamented.

“Like you didn't need to know about these?” Rodney asked, running fingertips over his own scales.

Jeannie sighed. “Okay, I admit, I need to know about that. For Madison's sake. I'm not going to get kidnapped again for this, am I?”

“No more than usual.”

“Great...”

Radek left and came back with a pair of unmarked bottles. He handed them to Rodney who pried off the caps with his claws. Rodney handed back a bottle.

“I worked with Deep Ones before and I was never kidnapped,” Radek said.

“Yeah, but the Soviet Union fell and lost all their records,” Rodney said.

“Details.”

“Wait, you worked with Deep Ones before?” Jeannie asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“How did they... warn you? Tell you? Did they... introduce the subject?”

Radek shrugged. “They tossed me in her tank and waited to see if she eats me.”

Jeannie's eyes went wide and she shuddered. “Okay, no I can't do that.”

Rodney took a swig of beer and squealed in pain. “Owowowowow...” He looked at the bottle in horror. “I don't think gills and beer mix... Radek, what do we do?!”

“You had no problem with shit beer,” Radek wondered. He took Rodney's bottle and sniffed it before handing it back. Smelled okay...

“What if that means... What if I can only drink shit beer?” The look of abject horror on Rodney's face made the situation seem much more serious than it should.

Jeannie smacked Rodney upside the head. “Stop panicking over beer and help me out here,” she snapped. “I'm trying to figure out how to tell Kaleb!”

“Oh just... It's summer, he's not teaching right now, drag him to Miskatonic,” Rodney snapped. “He'll get the idea. If he doesn't, hit the anthropology department and look for old guys following you around. Or go to the library and mention my name. It's not hard.”

“Just like that?” Jeannie asked in disbelief.

“You could always try Boston. While Dad was still active in the Esoteric Order I heard there was a growing population of hybrids there. Look for the seediest slums you can think of.”

“Maybe we'll just stick to the university,” Jeannie said.

Rodney sighed as he looked in betrayal at his unmarked bottle. He bowed his head in defeat and handed it to Jeannie.

“Hey! She gets none,” Radek complained.

Rodney started to purr sadly.

*****

“What if I need to talk to someone about this on the Daedalus?” Jeannie asked. It was the next day and she had only a few minutes before her scheduled beam-out. “I'm not going to pretend to assume that anyone really knows...”

“Colonel Caldwell knows,” Rodney said. “You can ask him, he's a decent guy once you get past the... yeah...”

“Right...” Jeannie said.

Rodney wrapped her up in a long hug. “Whatever you do, just don't be like Dad,” he whispered. “Don't keep it from your own family. Kaleb deserves to know, Madison is his daughter after all.”

“When did you get wise?” Jeannie ask as the hug ended.

“I think it was when my secret got out and my whole science department cared more about being able to explore underwater than the fact that their department head was a mutant.”

“You're not a mutant.”

“Close enough.” Rodney stepped back as the Asgard beam activated and Jeannie disappeared to the Daedalus.

On the balcony above, Dr. Woolsey and Lily Ryan watched the moment.

“They must have reconciled,” Woolsey mused. “Your squadmate's reports say the tension in the science department eased sometime last night.”

“That was me, sir,” Lily said. “I found Mrs. Miller in the cafeteria, talked her into reconciling.”

“How'd you manage that?”

“Deep Ones females don't breed often,” Lily said. “When they do they're highly protective of their offspring. Mrs. Miller may never transform but she's still a hybrid with all those same instincts. I just had to bring her kid into it.”

“Nothing untoward, I hope,” Woolsey said.

“Nah. Just motherly stuff. 'What if your kid transforms, who will you turn to' that sort of thing.”

“I wouldn't have thought someone with your training would be so civil.”

“A lot of cells went dark when the NID started having trouble,” Lily said. “Those of us who survived put a lot of thought into how we work. I assume you didn't request us just for the wetworks.”

“No,” Woolsey agreed. “I need intelligence. I need to know McKay isn't a threat. And I need that option if he is.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good. Return to your duties, we don't need McKay's... nest... any more suspicious than they already are.”

“Right.” Lily left Woolsey alone on the balcony even as he watched McKay lumber off toward the science labs, giving orders without even having to speak.


	6. Realities

It was only a matter of time. McKay knew it, Sheppard knew it, Zelenka knew it, Keller knew it, Woolsey knew it. They all knew it was coming but no one knew what would actually happen.

It began like any other night when Rodney dragged himself out of the bathtub and fell vaguely on his bed. He woke up a few hours later, stretched, yawned, and crawled back into the tub. He sprawled out in the water, lamenting his tub's lack of depth before falling back to sleep. Wake up again not an hour later, groggy from the lack of oxygen. Not enough water in the tub to breathe properly.

The constant movement between tub and bed was more than enough to annoy him, leaving him in a perpetual state of hissing tension. He hissed now, shaking himself as he tried to wake up enough to climb into bed.

Something hit the water with a faint splat.

Rodney looked down and stared blankly. It took an embarrassingly long moment before it hit him and he squealed as he threw himself out of the tub.

He was no medical doctor but even he knew it was bad for one's ear to fall off.

*****

The nurse on duty was slightly confused and muchly disturbed by the creature who stormed into the infirmary at ass-early AM. It wore a soaking wet bedsheet draped and wrapped around it like a cloak and a toga in one. A trail of wet footprints followed it all the way from the transporter.

“Dr. McKay?” the nurse asked.

The creature, Rodney, made a few strange sounds that might have been an attempt at speech.

“How about we take a look?” the nurse asked.

Rodney held up his own former ear and growled.

The nurse didn't quite cover his sense of 'eww' before regaining his professional detachment. “How about if I radio Dr. Keller?” he asked. “You just stay here and I'll be right back with her, okay?” He left in a hurry.

Rodney growled at the wait, hopping from one foot to the other. He refused to sit down, instead choosing to stand in the center of the room to make as much of a nuisance of himself as possible. He found himself scratching idly as his wet sheet dried out and his skin started itching terribly.

Another nurse came up behind him and reached out with a tentative hand, intending to place it on his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit down,” she suggested.

Rodney whirled around and hissed, long and loud as he crouched down, claws and fangs bared. He straightened back up as he saw it was only a nurse and an unfazed one at that. The hissing ended and instead he held up his ear.

“Right,” she said. “We'll get Dr. Keller in here soon, just sit tight.” She left.

Rodney went back to scratching at the sparse patches of skin that were still marginally human, stopping only when one large patch peeled off in his hand. He stopped and stared, not even breathing as he looked back and forth between the patch of dead skin and the fresh silver-green scales that had been hiding beneath. There was a panicked moment when he tried to put the skin back on. A long keening whine trailed from his throat when it didn't work.

The whoosh of the infirmary door broke him from his panic. Dr. Keller walked in wearing pajamas and her lab coat, clearly still half-asleep. “It's god-awful AM, McKay,” she groaned. “What is it?”

Rodney held up his ear.

Jennifer blinked at it, squinted, rubbed her eyes, and then woke up as she realized what it was. “Ick,” she said, making a face. “Okay, let's get you out from under that sheet and onto an exam table. Anything else fall off?”

Rodney showed her the skin he'd peeled from his arm.

“Gross,” Keller said. “C'mon, give me the sheet.”

Rodney huffed and let the sheet fall.

Jennifer forgot to breathe for a moment. She'd gotten used to the visual of Rodney in his half-transformed state, was used to the sight of scales and silver fading seamlessly into patches of humanity. What she hadn't expected was to see all of that humanity peeling off at the same time like an aggressive leprosy. “Okay, let's get you on the table,” she said.

Rodney tried to speak, could only make a small bleating sound. He tried again, his hands going to his throat in panic.

_I can't talk! What am I going to do?!_

“I can hear you just fine, Rodney,” Jennifer insisted.

_What's going on?_

“If you were anyone else I would have no idea,” she admitted. “But I think I know. Hold still.” She brought the Ancient scanner out and did a full body scan.

_You can fix it, right?_

The scanner finished and Keller poked at the results. She brought up a series of previous scans, a distinct progression visible in the physical changes it displayed. “I doubt it,” she admitted.

Rodney snarled, though it was a distinctly fearful sound. He hopped off the table to look over her shoulder at the results.

The scans were interesting to say the least. They showed where unnecessary muscles atrophied, where new ones developed. Gills, scales, the tapetum lucidum, even his brain... _What's happening to me?_

“I think you're taking to the water,” Jennifer said. “Right now.”

*****

“Out of the question!” Woolsey shouted. “I cannot have him transforming, not now!”

He paced his own conference room. McKay, Keller, Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, and Zelenka were assembled just a few hours after McKay's rude awakening. They each displayed different levels of lucidity, from Ronon's total alertness to Zelenka's bleary-eyed exhaustion as he double-fisted cups of coffee.

“Surely now is a better time than others we have experienced,” Teyla said diplomatically.

“Yeah,” Sheppard agreed. “The Wraith have been quiet, we haven't been paid a visit by any of Michael's surprises, compared to most of our time out here it's downright peaceful.”

“Can it wait until morning?” Zelenka mumbled.

“That's not the point!” Woolsey snapped. “Do you honestly expect me to just let the science department sit on their hands while McKay's off transforming?”

_I haven't had any particularly new or exciting breakthroughs for months. It's just been finding and cataloging. They don't need me for that._

“Yeah, what McKay said,” Ronon said.

Woolsey glared at those assembled. “I don't know what you think you're hearing in those sounds he makes but those aren't words.”

_What?_

“Look, this isn't something that can just be stopped,” Keller insisted. “When it happens it happens. You might as well try to stop puberty.”

_Wait, he can't hear me?_

“I guess he can't, McKay,” Sheppard snapped.

Rodney planted his claws on the table, arched his neck, and unleashed a series of barking snarls. _The Juris Doctor is the least useful doctor there is. Your aim leaves something to be desired. You couldn't swim your way out of a straight empty corridor. Yorkies are useless dogs with more hair than sense._

“That was low, McKay,” Keller scolded.

“What?” Woolsey demanded. “What **was** that?”

Sheppard smacked Rodney upside the head. “You don't insult a man's dog. That's rude.”

Rodney snarled, flaring his gills in nonchalance.

Woolsey scowled.

“At least let us study the process,” Keller said, trying to get the conference back on topic.

_What? I don't want to be studied!_

“Don't you think Carson would want to see you take to the water?” she asked.

Rodney crouched down into himself, a low hiss coming from his throat. _I know he would..._

“Then it's settled,” Keller prompted. “You'll stay in the city until Carson arrives. Meanwhile we can study the process. You'll have time to finish what you're working on in the lab and prepare for Zelenka to take over.”

“What?” Zelenka asked.

_Yeah, what?_

“Temporarily, of course,” Keller assuaged.

“It is **not** settled,” Woolsey said.

“Why not just let him take to the water?” Ronon asked.

“Will Dr. McKay be expected to perform duties offworld?” Teyla asked.

“Absolutely not,” Woolsey said.

_I agree. What if something happens offworld and I lose myself? Or if we come across new natives who decide to kill us because my other ear decides to fall off in front of them? I don't even know what happens to a hybrid's mind during the final throes of the Change! What if I stop being me? I don't ever want to go through that again..._

“Would Lorne's team be up to taking over AR-1's duties?” Woolsey asked.

“I'm sure they'll be fine with that,” Sheppard agreed. “And I've been grooming Major Teldy to take command of a team. They can take up some of the slack once they're ready.”

Woolsey sighed. He could feel the headache looming and McKay's sounds were making it so much worse. “Fine,” he said. “AR-1 is grounded until further notice. Colonel, tell Major Teldy to get her team together, they begin rotation in three days. Dr. Keller, take good notes. Dr. Beckett will be contacted and should be here on the next Daedalus run. Dr. McKay, stay out of the water and finish whatever projects you're working on. Dismissed, all of you.”

He waited until the others had left before collapsing into his chair. Actually, now that McKay was gone his headache was already getting better. It must be some Deep One thing.

Woolsey tapped his radio. “Captain Corso, Officer Doud, Gunner Ryan, please report to my conference room.”

*****

_They're following me..._

_Don't try to tell me otherwise, I know they're following me. Always staring like they don't know what to do with themselves. Always watching._

_I tried to corner one but he disappeared. Yes, they're real. I swear they're real. I just... can't get them cornered. I can see them but I can't sense their minds. I can't hear them! How am I supposed to corner them if I can't hear where they are?_

_No I'm not dreaming. Believe me, I'm not dreaming. There's no dreams on this world to have!_

_They're real. They're following me. There's one right over there, just watching me. Tell me you can hear them, damn you!_

_Tell me you can hear them!_

*****

Dr. Zelenka was taking advantage of a bet won recently. He was enjoying his hard-won day off with a good book and pilfered cocoa powder lightly flavoring his cup of coffee. It was a newer book, hoarded from prying eyes and ears as he waited for a chance to read it cover-to-cover in one sitting. It was a respect he liked to award to murder mysteries, especially those of the erotic kind.

Thus when his radio beeped he considered his anger well-warranted. “Jaký!" he snapped.

The interrupting voice on the radio sounded properly timid. “Um, Dr. Zelenka, there's a problem in the lab that requires your attention.”

“Am on day off!” Zelenka scolded. “You are new. Day off is sacred. Bother McKay.”

“I can't, sir. Dr. McKay is the problem.”

A dilemma warred in Zelenka's mind. He was seriously tempted to continue his novel because on almost every level an erotic asphyxiation gone wrong in an isolated S&M resort was much more interesting than saving someone who probably deserved Rodney's wrath. He sighed heavily as loyalty won out over the murder mystery. Besides, he'd already figured out who the murderer was. “Where is McKay?” he asked.

Radek found Rodney in the lab making noises to himself while writing on the wall. It started on the whiteboards but had moved onto the walls themselves. The characters were an odd mix of numbers, Greek letters, Ancient text, tiny pictographs, and odd characters Radek thought might be Aklo.

“He's been like this for a couple of hours.”

Radek turned to find a marine in the corner, Wraith stunner in hand, a nametag on his chest that said 'Doud'. “He's been agitating the whole lab,” Doud continued. “They said maybe you could do something about this.”

Radek nodded before stepping into the empty floor space cleared by Rodney's pacing and writing. “Dr. McKay?” he asked. “Rodney?”

Rodney stopped his drawing in the middle of a glyph. He blinked, darting his eyes about like a confused animal. He went back to the glyph even as Radek got close enough to hear him.

_Keep me here, they keep me here... Make me solve things for them, yes, they don't understand... Puny humans, takes lots of them, trap only one... Only one knows all they don't know..._

Radek stepped closer even as the force of Rodney's thoughts left him with a headache.

_Can't hear the others, can't hear the Old Ones... Alone... Not alone? Nest... Need the nest... Humans? No, humans don't make nest... Can't be humans... Where are they? Need the nest..._

Radek reached out a hand to lay it on Rodney's shoulder. He barely felt the touch of scales beneath his fingertips when the room shifted and Rodney shrieked. Clawed hands grabbed Radek's head and yanked him to his knees, a fanged maw snarling fishy breath in his face.

Radek's hands grabbed the wrists holding him captive. He felt his own panic as surely as he saw the mindless madness in his captor's eyes. Radek shut his eyes against the sight and began to whisper, to beg.

“You are Dr. Rodney McKay,” Radek pleaded. “You are head of science and research in Atlantis. You are from Earth. You have a sister and niece.”

Warrant Officer Doud had his stunner up and ready, but this strange image of a Deep One's thrall attempting to talk sense into it... Fascinating.

“You are Dr. Rodney McKay,” Radek continued. “You have PhD in astrophysics and mechanical engineering. You are expert in wormhole physics.”

Worried scientists with the same headache-induced pain in their eyes crowded the door, all watching, all wondering.

“You are Dr. Rodney McKay,” Radek begged. “Your first name is Meredith. You always hate that name. Only your sister calls you that name.”

Radek opened his eyes to find his captor looking at him with curious eyes. A faint spark of recognition lurked in shining blue.

“You are Dr. Rodney McKay.”

_I am Dr. Rodney McKay._

“You are a Deep One and a scientist.”

_I am a Deep One. I am a scientist. I am... not alone?_

“You are not alone. Your nest is here.”

_I can't hear them..._

“Yes you can. Listen to me, Rodney. You're not alone.”

The hands holding Radek's head captive lurched as Rodney fell to the floor, dragging Radek with him. Radek found himself on the floor with Rodney curled around him, shaking and purring.

Radek shifted how he could until he was sitting up with a pair of scaly arms clutching his middle and Rodney's head in his lap. He sighed and laid his hands on Rodney's head, slowly petting him, tracing the edges of scales with his fingertips.

“We have to let him take to the water,” Zelenka said, looking up at Doud.

Officer Doud tried to pretend he hadn't been watching the scene with great interest. “I'm under orders to prevent that,” Doud admitted.

Zelenka glared even as Rodney clutched him tighter. “Whose orders?” he demanded.

*****

“What do you mean **you** ordered it?” Sheppard demanded.

Woolsey met Sheppard's outburst with vague interest. “I ordered it,” he said. “Warrant Officer Doud, Master Gunner Ryan, and Captain Corso are under my direction concerning these affairs.”

“Do you have any idea who these people are?!”

Woolsey looked Sheppard right in the eye. “Delta Green was incorporated into the NID after their unfortunate actions concerning certain allies of the US Government during the Vietnam War. I know exactly who they are.”

Sheppard's rant fell into a look of abject horror. The Trust came from the NID. Other factions had split from the NID. And Woolsey himself...

“Yes, Colonel, I was an NID agent before I was assigned to the IOA,” Woolsey said conversationally. “I have delta green clearance. I requisitioned an active cell in order to keep an eye on the situation with Dr. McKay. They're here for recon only until I say otherwise.”

“Recon only.”

“Recon only,” Woolsey insisted. “Until I order otherwise. Which I have not.”

“And you couldn't have told me about this why?” Sheppard demanded. “McKay is on my team **and** I'm the military commander here! If I have a cell of agents following orders that aren't mine, I need to know about that.”

“Because you've been compromised,” Woolsey snapped. “You, your entire team, and God knows who else.”

“Compromised?”

“You are thralls of Dr. McKay. Your minds have been compromised.”

“What are you talking about?”

Woolsey sighed and opened his laptop. He pulled up a security video, one from the day McKay's ear had fallen off. It showed McKay and Sheppard in a corridor having what looked like a conversation.

But it didn't sound like one.

“It's not that bad,” Sheppard said, his voice tinny through the recording and the laptop's speakers.

A horrid snarl and a bleating shriek answered him.

“Did I say it hadn't? Besides, you know Keller. Just purr with those big blue eyes and she'll let you go.”

The figure of McKay on the screen bounced around erratically, jumping on all four legs. It barked and growled before bleating a long, lilting tone.

“I'm sure you'll be fine. Trust me.”

Woolsey stopped the recording and looked up at Sheppard's face as it slowly fell into realization. “That's not what happened,” Sheppard whispered. “I swear to you, we were just walking and he sure as hell didn't sound like **that**!”

“You heard his voice in your head,” Woolsey said. “Didn't you.”

Sheppard's expression told him all he needed to know.

“Who else hears him?” Woolsey asked.

“If you're asking who can understand him, you're looking at most of the science department at least.”

“And your team.”

Sheppard's expression hardened and closed.

“It's not your fault, Colonel,” Woolsey said, closing his laptop. “I don't even think it's McKay's fault, not really; I don't think he knows he's doing this. But you are his thrall now, you've opened your mind to him. If this were Earth you'd be a security risk, susceptible to influence by any Deep One who happened to swim along.”

“What happens now?” Sheppard asked, his voice as closed as his expression.

“I plan to get a drink,” Woolsey answered, surprisingly honest. He needed something for his headache. “As for McKay, there's not much we can do. You heard what happened in the lab today, Dr. Zelenka sat on the lab floor petting McKay like a cat for a good three hours. Warrant Officer Doud said Zelenka talked McKay out of some sort of madness and then they both just sort of collapsed.”

Sheppard snorted. He had to admit, that sounded like them. “What about me?”

“What about you?” Woolsey asked. “You're susceptible to Deep Ones, not Wraith.”

“That doesn't sound by-the-book...”

“Of course it isn't,” Woolsey snapped. “But I value my life and the lives of this expedition. Besides, thanks to General O'Neill's involvement I have other options. Madness can be so subjective, after all...”

Sheppard recognized the allusion to the SGC's own policy. He thought for a moment. “So, recon, you said,” he mused. “How do you feel about stout?”

“As in beer?” Woolsey asked, confused.

Sheppard headed toward the door, gesturing for Woolsey to follow. “I know someone you should meet. For recon. You might get that drink out of it, too.”

Woolsey pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn't want to, not with a thrall, and how could he keep his own options open if he was already referring to Sheppard as a thrall? He sighed. It wasn't wise but if he couldn't trust Sheppard not to hurt him then he couldn't run this city. “All right, fine,” he allowed.

It wasn't long before they found themselves in a partially abandoned residential corridor. Sheppard stopped at a door and knocked in a pattern that...

What.

Woolsey tried not to roll his eyes as Sheppard knocked “shave and a hair cut”. It got worse when a knock from inside answered “two bits”. The door opened.

The man inside wore blue like the rest of the scientists but hid one eye under a black eyepatch.

“Is this...” Woolsey couldn't say it.

“They call me 'Pirate Pete',” Pete said. “What's your currency?”

Sheppard reached into his pocket and pulled out a 1.5oz bar of...

“Hershey,” Pete mused.

“Special dark,” Sheppard tempted.

“Store's open,” Pete said, letting them inside. “What's your preference?”

“Three beers and an hour of your time,” Sheppard said.

“ **Three**? I don't run a charity here.”

“Well, okay, two and you byob?”

Woolsey watched the sad attempt at haggling, wondering why it was being done over a chocolate bar and beer.

Sheppard waved the chocolate bar temptingly.

“And a whole hour... I simply don't know if I have the time...”

“What other plans did you have for tonight?” Woolsey asked.

Pete shrugged. “I was gonna bottle, actually. The new batch is ready to be laid down. Do you really think I want to keep all those thirsty marines waiting just for a single bar of chocolate?”

“I'm sure whatever Colonel Sheppard has planned won't interfere with your bottling process,” Woolsey argued.

“You don't know what bottling beer is like,” Pete countered. “It's an all-night job, you know. Making C4 is easier.”

“We could help,” Sheppard offered.

Pete's breath hitched, a tell Woolsey noticed immediately. It meant a won case, though he had no idea what he was there to win.

“If you drop anything I'm making sure everyone knows it's your fault,” Pete warned. He snatched the chocolate bar out of Sheppard's hand. “Deal.”

The chocolate went into a wood box with several other candy bars and Pete pulled two dark brown bottles from a crate under the desk. “We're heading into the next room over,” Pete said. “Remember, you agreed...”

They were washing glassware.

Woolsey glared at Sheppard as they scrubbed bottles with scalding hot water. Sheppard merely shrugged.

“You'd be amazed at the work that goes into good beer,” Pete said as he tested the contents of four separate 5 gallon glass fermentation vessels. “Most people think you pop a can and call it a day. This batch here will have taken about 6 weeks once it's done. Red ale with a hint of some of those fruits we traded for, you know the ones that looked like butts? A box of them started getting rank so I paid the chefs for them. I made a peach beer once out of dead fruit, that turned out pretty good.”

Woolsey continued his glare. Sheppard put on a happy face just to annoy the man.

Pete tasted the young beer. “Definitely needs time in the bottle,” he said. “You two done with those bottles yet?”

Woolsey's glare turned ferocious. Sheppard got the urge to start whistling. “Almost done,” he called in a sing-song voice.

“Excellent,” Pete said. There was the popping of a cap and then two and a third. “As soon as you're done take a load off. What is it you wanted an hour of my time for anyway?”

Sheppard finished with the bottles even under Woolsey's glare. He sprawled out next to Pete and took the offered bottle. “You talked with McKay recently?” Sheppard asked.

Woolsey's glare faded as he dried his hands. What was Sheppard playing at?

“Of course,” Pete said. “After Great Cthulhu went up we all kind of set up a rotation. At least one of us with Dr. McKay at all times, preferably two. You never know with the military, especially the new ones. Oh I know they're screened and all but that didn't stop, what was his name, Sergeant Arlan, you remember him.”

“Ugh,” Sheppard agreed. He raised his bottle to the loss of that man.

“You feared for Dr. McKay's safety?” Woolsey asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Pete said, handing Woolsey his beer. “Still do. I hear there was an issue in the labs today. Nobody got hurt I take it?”

“Only Zelenka's pride,” Sheppard said. “He had to sit on the lab floor petting McKay like a cat for hours.”

Pete snorted. “There's video, right? Wait, no, we both know there will be.”

Woolsey took a swig of his beer and had to stare at the bottle. This was... unexpected. “Wow...”

“I take all compliments,” Pete said.

“He's a wine drinker,” Sheppard said.

“Well then you'll like this one,” Pete said, patting one of the glass units.

“I'm sure I will,” Woolsey allowed. “You feared for Dr. McKay's safety.”

“Well, he did at first,” Pete said, shrugging. “But it kind of spread, like fear does when it's not dealt with.”

“You ever have any trouble understanding him?” Sheppard asked.

“At first,” Pete admitted. “Once his gills popped or whatever he got real croaky. Hard to understand. Prone to hissing in frustration when nobody understood him. But you could still make out a few words here and there. And then...”

“And then what?” Woolsey asked.

“I dunno, it was like a switch flipped or something. I was getting frustrated and he was getting worse and I really just wanted to be able to hear what in god's name he was saying and then... And then I could. Clear as day. Why, did he get his voice back or something?”

“Nope,” Sheppard said. “He's doing this mental telepathy thing where he sends thoughts to our heads or something.”

Pete snorted. “That's not too hard,” he said. “Give me a month and I can make enough LSD that you'll swear the Gate's talkin' to you.”

“I did not hear that,” Woolsey muttered.

“Yeah but he's actually doing it,” Sheppard said. “Tripping balls not required.”

Pete thought for a moment. “So he can talk in our minds instead of using that freaky-ass voice of his. I see no downside.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may--” Woolsey began.

Sheppard shushed him. His hair stood on end and his eyes were wide. “There's something wrong,” he said.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Woolsey drawled.

Sheppard glared at him before running off. Something was very wrong here.

*****

_Run!_

_Have to run, have to get out of here, have to get to the water, have to take to the water._

_Trapped. They're still there, watching me. I can see one of them almost. I can see it coming for me._

_They won't leave me alone! Let me alone, let me go, let me be, just **let me**!_

_Somebody, hear me! They won't let me go! Hydra, Dagon, anyone! Hear me!_

_Please... Before they catch me..._

_Get me out of here..._

*****

“It won't hold him for long,” Woolsey warned.

“It'll hold him long enough,” Captain Corso said.

The two of them watched the isolation room from the observation deck. Down below, Rodney McKay was strapped prone and naked to an exam table. He didn't look even remotely human anymore. His hands grasped at nothing, unable to reach the restraints that bound him. His spine was raised, bones breaking through the hide to form some sort of spinal fin. His human skin was almost completely gone, peeled off to reveal fresh scales underneath. His hair was long gone and even his other ear was missing. Oddly enough, the worst wasn't his emotionless fishy head or his scaly-smooth skin but his feet. Those feet couldn't decide whether they were digitigrade or flat fins and they had far too many toes, each toe with its own shiny black claw.

“How long is long enough?” Woolsey asked.

“That depends,” Corso said. “You figure out how many thralls he's got? We just gotta keep them out.”

“That's the problem,” Woolsey said. “He's got most of the city.”

“What?”

“This isn't our city anymore,” Woolsey reiterated. “It's his. They're all his. Almost all of science, half of medicine, some of the military to be sure.”

“Then how do we stop them?” Corso asked.

The alarm began to blare. Someone had broken containment in the isolation chamber.

“We don't.”

*****

To: Dr. Robert Woolsey  
From: Major Evan Lorne  
Re: Report on Dr. McKay's escape

Dr. Rodney McKay escaped the isolation room last night at 26:48. The two guards posted were disabled by Wraith stunners and were unable to identify their attackers. Science has been unable to retrieve usable surveillance data from that area of the city from 26:14 to 00:24. It has been determined that containment was breached from the outside.

Dr. McKay's restraints were unfastened, implying this was a 'prison break', as it were. Half a dozen individuals have all confessed to the deed, however each of their whereabouts can be verified during the time in question.

Dr. McKay's subcutaneous transmitter was found on the East Pier this morning at 02:19 in a patch of shed skin. At current we have no way of tracking his movements or whereabouts, nor can it be determined if he is still alive.

McKay's gone, sir.


	7. Shadows

The bulletin board went up the very first day.

It must have been Sheppard, or maybe it was one of the scientists, or one of the chefs, or who knows. There was never any proof as to who did it.

The bulletin board was hung on a wall in the cafeteria. It did not stay empty for long, its contents spilling out onto the wall beside it.

'McKay Sightings'.

*****

Woolsey scowled at the board and its wide array of badly focused photos, tall tales, and printouts of erroneous energy readings. Really, there were people here who knew how to use a camera, why couldn't they be the ones to take the photos? Even the best ones looked like the photo his dad once had of Bigfoot.

And wasn't that a headache-inducing thought, Atlantis gaining its very own cryptid because Dr. McKay was either too disturbed by his own transformation to return or else was no longer himself. Woolsey wasn't sure which conclusion this 'proof' supported.

Here was a photo of a strange dark shape in the water off the East Pier. Here was another from the corridors at night, two bright green eyes glowing in the darkness. And didn't anyone know how to use the camera's flash?

A story from a marine on night watch, of the lights inexplicably going out one by one and then the clicking of toenails on the floor, like a dog's claws on hardwood. Another of an odd toying chase through the jumper bay at 03:00 with a strange creature that brayed and howled. A report of dreams in the lower levels, dreams about a single lonely voice singing in the darkness, coaxing them down into deep waters.

Woolsey lingered over that report. Dreams were a common mode of communication between the Great Old Ones and humans. Perhaps the servitor races could use them too? But that took power, a strength of will unknown in a human to send dreams like that. How...

Right.

Woolsey had to stop thinking of McKay as a human, former or otherwise. He had been a hybrid, always a hybrid, never a human.

Delta Green underestimated Deep Ones once and found themselves faced with monsters who could roil the sea as strong as any storm and sing the songs of the enchanted siren. Woolsey could not afford to make the same mistake.

He needed an outside opinion.

*****

“Maybe he's just lonely.”

Woolsey, Doud, and Corso all gave Lily Ryan a variety of odd looks ranging from disbelief to deadpanned annoyance.

“What?” she asked. “I read the files. Deep Ones sing to each other. Drove a lot of researchers nuts with the Innsmouth subjects.”

“The last thing we need is a creeping madness,” Woolsey said. “Is there any way to get him to shut up?”

“Dump lemons in the water?” Doud suggested.

The deadpanned looks turned to a new target.

“Yanno, if he was allergic to tartar sauce I'd say the lemon thing made sense,” Corso drawled.

Woolsey felt a headache bloom behind his eyes. “That was bad,” he scolded.

Corso did not look apologetic.

“Isn't there anything we can do?” Woolsey asked. “Either protect the city or shoo him off or, I don't know, anything.”

“I see two options,” Ryan said. “One, he's brought back into the city. If he's still Dr. McKay that'll be weird and we all have reservations about it, I know. After all, he's not human and this is a human expedition.”

“He never was human,” Doud said.

“And it took him taking to the water for us to admit it,” Ryan said. “If we're that blind about inhumanity in our midst why not use it?”

“Pass, if we can,” Corso said. “It's too dangerous to let a telepathic monster like that any sort of run of this city.”

“The second option is, well... is what we do best.”

Woolsey sat lost in thought. “Sheppard told me once that McKay feared Delta Green was here to kill him,” he said. “Proving him right will not go over well.”

“And if Sheppard has to accept it?” Corso asked.

Woolsey shook his head. “I doubt he will. He's never accepted orders like that before. He's almost lost his commission over it several times. That won't stop him now. And do not doubt that the military will back him, not us. No, assassination is out of the question.”

“Then we just let him back in?” Corso demanded.

“Do you really think we could keep him out if he wanted in? He's got the gene, he knows Ancient tech better than anybody here, there's already signs that he's in the city. I don't think there's a damn thing we can do to stop him.”

Corso's eyes narrowed as he watched Woolsey. The man was tired, to be sure, but there was something else wrong with him. Inherently wrong. “You haven't given in, have you?” Corso asked.

“What?” Woolsey asked.

Corso stood up, hands clenching for a weapon he wasn't carrying. “Because if you're compromised you'll leave us no choice.”

Woolsey stood up, glaring the man in the eye. “You, Captain, are out of line.”

“And you're a security risk,” Corso countered.

“Risk or no, this is **my** city and you follow **my** orders. Stand down, Captain, before I relieve you of duty.”

Anthony Corso stood his ground for a long tense moment before conceding defeat. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled sullenly before sitting down.

Woolsey glared at the three of them. “Dismissed, all of you,” he snapped. “And if I hear one word of an assassination plot...”

Corso left first, head held high. Doud and Ryan looked less sure as they left.

Woolsey sank into his chair, head pounding.

*****

“First Deep Ones and now monsters,” General O'Neill drawled. “I told Carter she got out before it got good but nooo...”

Woolsey sighed and hid his face in his hands though he knew the general could not see him. Not through the audio link, two event horizons, the shield, and the iris that separated Atlantis from the SGC during their weekly check-in. “The Deep One **is** the monster,” Woolsey insisted. “Dr. McKay is still here and his insistence on remaining hidden is not helping this situation.”

“I am aware of that,” O'Neill said. “The Daedalus is on its way, it'll be there next week. Thursday, I think, which translates to... what does it translate to out there?”

“Thursday,” Woolsey snapped.

“Whatever. Get some sleep, Woolsey, you sound like shit.”

The wormhole disconnected.

Woolsey leaned against a console, rubbing his temples. This headache was becoming intolerable.

*****

Sleep, Keller had said. You're the third one today, she'd said. Just get some sleep, she'd insisted. She even gave him these little red pills to help him sleep.

Woolsey looked at the bottle of pills. He rolled one out into his hand and took it, washing it down with a glass of water. She was right, he needed sleep. He and so many others. He laid down and dragged the covers over himself.

This city-wide headache was not helping matters. Although, it wasn't really city-wide, was it? It didn't affect the scientists. Or Sheppard's team. Or...

McKay's thralls! They were... immune...

Woolsey tried to get out of bed but he felt so heavy...

Had to... tell...

Some...one...

Woolsey opened his eyes. Strange, this wasn't his bedroom. And why was he in his uniform?

He was in the corridors of Atlantis near the South Pier. He could hear something, only just. It seemed to be coming from outside. He followed the sound.

The sun glinted prettily off the waves as they lapped up the sides of the Pier. A gentle slope led down into the water, no doubt once used for recreation, as it was now.

The sea was full of people. Woolsey stood at the door, transfixed by the sight. It all looked so... normal.

Teyla with little Torren in the shallows caused by the city's ledge, letting her little boy splash Dr. Zelenka as he sat nearby. Ronon and Sheppard wrestled in the waves while trying not to snort water up their noses. Major Lorne lay sprawled out on the Pier, sunning himself on a big colorful beach towel. Dr. Parrish and Chuck swam lazy circles in the sea while Dr. Keller floated on her back in the middle. So many others, almost the entire city here in the water.

“This is wrong.”

Woolsey turned around to see Captain Corso behind him dressed in full combat gear, P90 in hand and an elder sign around his neck. “These are Deep One waters,” Corso warned. “There's monsters out there. Monsters we swore to protect the world from.”

Woolsey looked back out at the scene off the Pier and the oddly wholesome sight.

“Don't do it, Sir,” Corso warned.

Woolsey felt something change. He looked down at himself, found he wore flip-flop sandals, swim trunks, and carried a towel.

“You'll be betraying everything you swore to uphold,” Corso said. “Like so many others. They all failed and the NID was purged. You stayed. You succeeded. Don't waste it all now.”

“I'm not,” Woolsey said. “I don't want to. I can't...”

Ronon won his match against Sheppard and tossed him bodily into the deep water. Sheppard came up coughing and sputtering even as he swam to the Pier.

“You can resist this,” Corso promised. “You've done it before. So many times. This is just another.”

“I've spent my whole career resisting,” Woolsey said. “What did it get me?”

“Your position?” Corso reminded. “You cleared the NID. You represent us in the IOA. You've done so much for Earth.”

“We're not on Earth anymore.”

Woolsey looked back at the Pier. Sheppard stood in the doorway, soaking wet, swim trunks clinging to his hips.

“We do this to save Earth,” Corso snapped.

“You can't save Earth by acting like you're still on Earth,” Sheppard warned. “There's far too much out here to worry about a single Deep One and his Nest. The Wraith aren't going to go easy on us because we follow the Geneva Convention. Replicators don't care about human rights. Michael is still out there, you think he'll be swayed by pretty words about choice and morality after what we've done to him? This isn't Earth.”

“This is a mistake,” Corso pleaded. “You'll be compromised. You'll never be safe again. You'll be a thrall!”

Woolsey weighed the two competing arguments. Both raised valid points, both were right. But...

“I'm tired of fighting,” Woolsey admitted.

“No...” Corso whispered.

“I have to pick my battles, Captain,” Woolsey said. “In trying to stop a single Deep One, what if I give up Earth to the Wraith? What if Michael wins? The Asurans come back? Am I willing to risk losing so much just to retain a tiny piece of my own humanity?”

“But it's **your** humanity!”

Woolsey nodded. “That makes it mine to lose.” He stepped out into the sunlight on the Pier. “I'm tired of fighting.”

Suddenly the Pier was slick and wet under his bare feet. Wait, where did his shoes go? How did they get out here so fast? Why was the door back into the city so far away? Woolsey's head hurt as someone grabbed his towel, as hands shoved him into the water, and then...

The pain was gone and he could hear singing.

*****

“I'm sorry I wasn' here when Rodney took to the water. I followed 'is Change for nigh on ten years. To miss it like tha', it must 'ave accelerated toward th'end, nae?”

Woolsey escorted Carson Beckett and Colonel Caldwell from the landing pier into the heart of the city. “His sister still mistook him for a human being just over a month ago,” Woolsey agreed. “Though denial was a factor, I'm sure.”

“Aye. When I last saw 'im 'e were far along but 'is gills 'adn't even burst yet. Wha' did 'e look like afore 'e took ta th' water?”

Woolsey shuddered. “He'd lost his voice entirely,” he said, remembering. “His skin peeled off in clumps, he could barely stand, there wasn't a bit of humanity in him when he escaped isolation. No human being makes sounds like that, acts like that, moves like that, **sings** like that.”

“An' then 'e spoke mentally to 'is nest an' brought them in ta release 'im from isolation, I saw th'records.”

“Tell me, is he still missing?” Caldwell asked.

Woolsey snorted. “Oh, he's around.” He led the visitors to a transporter and then the cafeteria. He made a grand gesture to the Wall. “He's been plenty seen.”

Carson couldn't help the grin. Caldwell did not look impressed. “I have better pictures of Bigfoot,” he said.

Both men turned to him. “You have pictures of Bigfoot?” Woolsey asked.

“It was the '80s,” Caldwell defended, as though that was an excuse. “Does no one in this city know how to take a decent picture?”

“Nobody posts **any** good pictures,” Woolsey said. “I believe the Marines are trying to be 'ironic' or some such nonsense and the civilians just went along with the idea.”

Caldwell rubbed his temples.

“Headache?” Woolsey asked.

“It's nothing,” Caldwell dismissed.

“You know, we had a whole epidemic of headaches after McKay took to the water,” Woolsey said. “They mostly faded but a few holdouts remain. Stubborn, really.”

“Aye, headaches can be stubborn.” Carson spared Woolsey an odd glance. There was something strange about the way he'd said it, but...

Nah...

*****

Carson poked his head in the science department's conference room. The room was in use, Dr. Zelenka and a slew of other scientists listening to a presentation.

“Barring someone shutting down the conduits leading to the stardrives, our findings show that a sustainable harvest with no loss from the ZPM can be achieved with one sacrificial Mark 1 naquadah generator running at a constant 23%,” said the presenter, a woman Carson didn't know. “We think we can get away with biweekly harvests on the outlying colonies, monthly harvests on the inner breeding colonies. Assuming a storm doesn't blow us into an anoxic doldrum the population should remain stable.”

“That'll saddle us with a 57% surplus of dead critters,” said a man with an eyepatch. Carson recognized him as Pirate Pete.

“Useful for trade goods,” Radek said. “When is next harvest, Dr. Morgan?”

“Going on right now, sir,” the presenter answered.

“Inform me when finished.” Radek glanced back at the door, sensing they were being watched. Carson waved politely. “Dismissed, everyone.” He got up and greeted Carson.

“I thought Pete regained 'is vision in tha' eye,” Carson mused.

“Is a pool going,” Radek admitted. “I suspect he wears for the look and for the ability to gain immediate night vision.”

“Hmm.” Carson stayed silent for a few moments as they left the science department, wandering toward the control room.

“Is something you wanted to ask?” Radek wondered.

“It's about Rodney. Do you think 'e suffered? Might 'e still be hisself?”

“I do not think he suffers,” Radek said. “Aside from loneliness. But his exile is self-imposed, there is no reason for it to continue.”

“But does'e even 'ave enough of a mind ta want ta return?”

The control room moved at a calm pace, the normality of everyday operations broken only by a single radio call. 'Jumper 8, requesting docking procedures in the underwater bay.'

Chuck looked oddly at the display. Yes there was a puddlejumper underwater but who... His eyes went wide as he realized.

“That control room is flooded, who's down there?” Woolsey demanded. “Was Colonel Sheppard or Major Lorne informed of your use of the underwater gear?”

“I think they have permission, sir,” Chuck said slowly.

“From whom?”

“They have permission,” Radek defended.

Woolsey looked suspiciously at the two of them before retreating to his office.

Chuck waited until Woolsey was out of earshot before bringing his hand up to his radio. “Colonel Sheppard, you might want to check out the underwater control room.”

*****

Peaceful. Quiet.

Too quiet.

All too quiet these days, no voices to break the silence or song from the Mother to call him home. The sea was his home now and it was bereft.

At least here in the lowest levels of the sunken city, he could still accomplish something. Even if it was just this.

Damn this sucked. But Delta Green held the city, his Nest was quiet, no one answered his Song.

Rodney watched the water drain on the other side of the glass, watched as the jumper there transitioned from sea to air. A note of sadness colored his vision, the taste of seawater growing saltier before the sense passed.

A sound disturbed his pondering, splashes at the surface. He glanced back at the access tunnel leading up. He didn't remember opening it...

Curiosity won the day.

_What?_

Rodney swam to the access tunnel, looked up. He flitted away, out of sight when he saw the eyes looking back at him.

_Go away, Sheppard, I don't want anybody to see me like this._

Rodney waited until he was sure Sheppard must have left before looking back up the tunnel just in time to see John Sheppard drop into the water.

Rodney hissed, the dull sound of gill rakers scraping against his inner gill plates. _What part of 'no' don't you understand?_

Sheppard pointed up to the surface.

Rodney huffed and swam in the opposite direction.

_I said no. Stop following me. You'll drown down here! Dammit, Sheppard, turn back!_

Sheppard disregarded Rodney's pleas or the winding nature of the route down which Rodney fled. His lungs burned as he swam, even as the light grew dim and dark, as he realized he wasn't sure where he was... Vaguely he felt claws and long-fingered hands wrap around him.

_Shit. Why did you follow me? Sheppard, please don't die._

Rodney swam them back to the access tunnel, all but throwing Sheppard up toward the surface and into open air.

Sheppard gasped as he reached air, coughing and sputtering as he fell back into the water. Long arms held him around his middle, holding him up so he could breathe.

_Please don't die don't be dead please be alive breathe please breathe why did you do that you can't breathe like I do why are you here you shouldn't be here I'm hideous please don't die for me..._

Sheppard reached down and pulled, dragging himself back underwater, face-to-face with the Deep One.

_Why?_

Sheppard grabbed Rodney before he could swim away. He held Rodney by the sides of his head and tried something he saw Zelenka do once. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face against Rodney's snout.

Rodney went quiet, his mind blank and eyes wide. He couldn't help the thrumming purr that rumbled through the water as he rubbed back, smooth scales sliding against wet skin.

Sheppard pulled away first, hoping his point had been made.

_Your hair looks extra stupid down here._

Sheppard snorted out a great gout of bubbles. He kicked to the surface to hack and cough. “Yeah, that's it, McKay, make me laugh underwater,” Sheppard scolded though there was no fire underneath.

Something breached the surface next to him. Silvery-green scales covered its face and head, merging with a dorsal ridge that disappeared into the water. Big blue eyes blinked under nictitating membranes and gills fluttered behind two large gill plates on its neck.

It reached up with a long-fingered paw and dunked Sheppard underwater.

Sheppard came up laughing.

_Why are you here?_

The laughter faded.

_Do you even have any idea what you just offered?! You don't do you?_

“I don't care what I offered,” Sheppard said, wiping the water from out of his nose. “So long as you agree to come home.”

_You mean..._

“We miss you, McKay. All of us. We just want you back.”

_You want what I **was**. Well guess what, Colonel, that's gone. This is what I am now._

“You're you. That's enough.”

_Yeah, until someone sees me. Then it's back to being a monster and not even the good kind! I'm not human anymore, John, can't you accept that?_

“You never were human.”

Rodney's mind stopped as he gaped openly at Sheppard. 'You never were human.' But hadn't he been once? Wasn't that the difference between then and now? Back when they all pretended to like him, or at least tolerated him, wasn't he human then?

“You've always been a Deep One, you just didn't look like it,” Sheppard said.

Maybe he never was...

_And you... still want me back? Why?_

Sheppard splashed him in the face. “Because you're you, you, you, you boobless mermaid, you giant toad, you lumbering manatee, you--” His line of insults were cut off as McKay shoved him underwater.

They wanted him back. He never even allowed the thought. He could return to work, could return to his Nest, Atlantis could be his home again and not just a flooded undercity where he lurked, he could...

Oh. Right. He lifted Sheppard back up to the surface to cough and sputter even as he rubbed his snout all over the man's face and purred.

*****

Rumor that Sheppard was seen leading a cloaked and soaking wet figure up from the flooded areas spread through Atlantis like wildfire. Some told tale of an animalistic bundle of wet fabric bounding around like a deranged frog, others spoke of a limping bipedality, still others claimed it weaved about like it was still swimming. Several members of the military claimed it had a tail trailing behind, most weren't so sure. It growled, purred, hissed, shrieked, or croaked, depending on who told the tale and when. Descriptions and speculations on what it looked like under all that fabric varied wildly, agreeing only that it was scaly, greenish, and had gills.

One thing was known for sure. McKay was back.

*****

Rodney hadn't even reached the labs before he was ambushed by an excited Scotsman. Rodney shrieked and brayed. _Unhand me, Carson!_

"Ah've been worried sick, ye great lug," Carson scolded, accent thick. He'd run up behind McKay and accosted the scientist with a sudden hug and barely understandable babbling. "Firs' Ah'm whisked off on th' Daedalus while hearin' ye migh' nae be aroun' when I get 'ere an' then Ah'm findin' meself bein' told by tha' pencil-pushin' Yank tha' yer mind's gone fer gud! Yer lucky Ah've been speakin' ta yer Nest, Rodney, so Ah knew ye were aroun' somewhere or ye an' Ah'd be havin' words righ' abou' naow."

_Words wouldn't be that bad of an idea, will you calm down so I can understand you?!_

Carson kept his grip on what felt vaguely like Rodney's middle under all that cloak. The wiggling was inconvenient and Rodney had yet to say a single word but he was **here** , he was okay.

Rodney slid out of Carson's grip, losing his cloak in the process. He fell to all fours and snarled, dorsal fin splayed.

Big blue eyes blinked at the dry of the air with nictitating membranes. Long fingers ended in black claws, their webbing long since torn out. Gills lurked under armored gill plates held closed against the empty air. Silver-green scales flowed and blended from the blue-striped spinal fin to the silken satiny pale underbelly.

Carson ignored it all, instead focusing on the familiar nervous movement in those fingers, the emotion in those blue eyes. Genius and superiority oozed from every pore in an inept attempt to cover doubt and fear.

Carson shivered.

_See, even Carson thinks I'm hideous._

“Yer beautiful,” Carson murmured.

_Wait, what?_

“I jus' wish I could hear ye.”

*****

“You're transferring them?” Caldwell asked.

Woolsey handed Caldwell the stack of three personnel files. “Their services were appreciated but they are more of a liability now than an asset,” Woolsey said.

Caldwell checked to make sure, yes, these were the files of the same three Delta Green agents he'd brought on the last Daedalus run. “I'm not sure Delta Green is going to like that,” Caldwell said. “From what I hear they're not the type of organization to just let this go.”

Woolsey shrugged. “The organization is not what it used to be,” he allowed. “There are bigger problems out here than a single Deep One and his Nest. I have left a full report for their perusal. If Delta Green believes they can be helpful against the Wraith then they can petition the IOA and the SGC like everyone else. Until then they will have to do with the research gathered on Dr. McKay's Change.”

“I see,” Caldwell said. “Well, now that that's dealt with, there is one major problem I've noticed. Dr. McKay can't talk. Is it wise to keep him in his position? How will he communicate?”

Woolsey smiled, an easy smirk that set Caldwell's nerves on an edge he didn't like. “Deep Ones communicate with their Nest in a variety of ways,” he drawled. “Much of it telepathic. That's the headache you've been getting in Atlantis, your mind trying to ignore his Song.”

Caldwell shuddered.

“Of course, the headaches don't last long, not if you're constantly exposed. There were a few holdouts, most will be transferring off when you leave for Earth. But the rest of us have no such problem.”

Woolsey's radio beeped. “What?” he snapped. “Wait, what happened? Are you sure?”

“What is it?” Caldwell asked.

“Ronon shot McKay,” Woolsey said. “In the face. With that energy gun of his. To see what would happen. Nobody was injured but apparently the shot bounced and... Let's just continue this at a later date.” Woolsey got up and stormed out of the Daedalus conference room, calling for a beam down to Atlantis.

*****

Caldwell couldn't help his curiosity. Against his better judgment he transported down with Woolsey and followed the man to the infirmary where Caldwell found himself fighting off a splitting headache as some sort of creature shrieked and spat, snarled and yowled, bleated and barked and growled. The noise was deafening, pounding on his head from all angles as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to scream.

And then...

_He shot me!_

Caldwell's eyes shot open. The noise was...

“He asked me to.”

_Yeah but I didn't think he'd do it. I don't even think that thing was set to stun. I could have been killed!_

“You're fine, Rodney. The damage is superficial. You just fused some scales on your snout, no biggie.”

Caldwell walked slowly into the infirmary, dreading what he would see.

Well... That was new.

Ronon looked pleased with himself. Sheppard looked amused. Keller's tongue stuck out in concentration as she examined the energy burn. But McKay...

There wasn't an ounce of humanity left and yet everyone was acting so natural, like there was nothing wrong. Its eyes were blank, its face expressionless, its maw littered with pointed teeth. It crouched on all fours on an examination table and was that a tail wrapped around it?

_'No biggie' she says. How do you know it'll heal? How do you know I won't always be stuck like this?_

“Oh, you're stuck like this,” Ronon mocked.

Rodney snarled at Ronon, though there was no real malice behind the sound.

“You've been shedding scales for as long as I've known you,” Keller pointed out. “You're not going to stop now just because you've Changed. They'll regrow normally and then Ronon can shoot you again.”

Rodney growled and crouched down on the table. His back arched, dorsal fin unfolding. It didn't seem to be a threatening posture...

“I could shoot you now if you feel that way,” Ronon offered.

Rodney jumped off the table and hissed. _You will do no such thing! How did I believe that was a good idea?_

Caldwell excused himself from the din of the infirmary. He could understand why so many of the military personnel were accepting transfers. And yet none of the scientists...

He chose not to linger on that fact. Not even as he heard the echoing Song behind him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Wraithbait under a different name. It has been rewritten.


End file.
